


as good a place to fall as any

by glimmerglanger



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (of villians), Alternate Universe, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Complete, Discussion of shitty issues related to a/b/o and younger people, Fix-It of Sorts, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Order 66, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot, background padme/satine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-13 16:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 106,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent to find a rumored weapon from the Old Republic on a mission directly from the Jedi Council, taking them away from the front lines at a vital time. During the course of the mission, they find far more than trouble than the anticipated and stumble into a series of events that leads to unintended attachments, misunderstandings, a fierce love affair, bloody victories, and an eventual end to the Clone Wars...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting a new chapter every Tuesday, unless something goes terribly awry. I can't think of any specific warnings, but there is shadiness related to a/b/o dynamics and the fact that Anakin can be fairly selfish, so keep that in mind.
> 
> This is a fix-it, because canon is tragic (and I love that) but sometimes I want some happier things to happen, so.

The mission came directly from the Council, a rare order without any trace of the Senate’s fingerprints. It reminded Obi-Wan of the old days, before the war.

He stood in the briefing room, looking at the holographic representations of the Council, Anakin standing impatient beside him. Obi-Wan sent him a wave of peace through the Force, and Anakin’s shoulders relaxed, at least a little. Anakin shouldn’t have even been out of the bacta tanks yet, not after the last skirmish with the Separatists had put a blaster bolt cleanly through his shoulder. Ahsoka was still resting from her injuries. But there was no convincing him to slow down; war had taught Obi-Wan to pick his battles.

“Showed up on scans only recently, the planet has,” Master Yoda said, his hologram flickering as he explained the mission. This far out in the rim worlds the signals were never particularly strong.

“You two are the closest to the planet, and we dare not risk a delay in the search. If Count Dooku hears about the weapon, he will be quick to secure it for his forces,” Master Windu said.

Anakin shifted his weight, always irritated by Master Windu, no matter what the other Jedi said. “With respect, Masters, we don’t even know if there’s anything there, and we’re supposed to be on our way to support Master Plo Koon. He desperately needs our aid.”

It was true enough. They were already running behind, and swinging wide off course to investigate some planet where the Jedi of another time may or may not have hidden some kind of powerful weapon, well… It sounded like another wild bantha chase. There had been too many of those, already.

Master Yoda huffed, leaning forward over his cane. “If exists this weapon does, into enemy hands fall, it cannot. Go and retrieve it, you will. Forwarded you the information, we have. Keep us informed of your progress, you will, Master Obi-Wan.” And then the transmission terminated.

“What crawled up his robes?” Anakin scoffed, once they were alone in the transmission room.

“Not everyone appreciates having their orders questioned,” Obi-Wan reminded, and Anakin rolled his eyes.

“I would never dream of questioning _your_ orders, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan snorted a laugh, the first he’d allowed since the last attack, and caught the flash of Anakin’s smile out of the corner of his eye. He felt relieved that they were still working together, for however long the mission would last, and tried to release the emotion to the Force. “I would never imply otherwise.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The system they want us to explore appears uninhabited. There’s no reason for _all_ of us to go. We’ll take a small group to see what we can find. The main force can continue on, to assist Master Plo Koon.”

“That sounds a bit like ignoring an order to me. Is that better or worse than questioning?” Anakin drawled, walking beside Obi-Wan as they left the room.

Obi-Wan glanced up at him. “I’m merely interpreting the spirit of it, as I’m sure the Council would want. I’ll go inform Cody of the change in plans. Prepare us a ride, would you?”

#

According to the Council’s intel, the planet they were being sent to had been a Jedi colony, back before the fall of the Old Republic. Master Secura had found records regarding it in some old outpost, the Council saw them and got their robes in a twist, and, just like that, they were being sent away from the front, from the worlds that needed them, to check out a ghost story.

It wasn’t that Anakin disbelieved the possibility of a super weapon charged by the Force that could ‘reveal and destroy enemies,’ but the last few years had significantly increased his levels of doubt regarding the prospect. In his experience, nothing good was _ever_ hiding in old ruins, especially Jedi ones.

Still, at least it would give Ahsoka time to recover. She’d been hit in the back during their last mission and her condition had been touch and go for longer than he would like to admit. She was still out, when he swung by the med-bay to check on her, after picking a squad to accompany them and prepping a ship for launch. Rex sat near her bacta tank, his heels crossed, picking at a spot on his helmet.

“Any change?” Anakin asked, leaned against the wall beside him.

Rex glanced up. “Not yet. But she’s a tough kid. Gonna be fine.”

“Of course,” Anakin said, but he walked over to the tank and pressed a hand against it, anyway, willing the Force into the liquid, speeding her healing as best he could. He’d never been much of a healer. She looked so small and young floating there. Helpless.

Maybe finding some super weapon wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

“I’m going to be gone for a while,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Look after her, while I’m away.”

One side of Rex’s mouth twitched up. “Always do,” he said.

#

The little ship Anakin picked was a snug fit for two Jedi and twelve troopers. Obi-Wan almost protested the amount of men Anakin had selected, but, really, things had gone wrong often enough that he didn’t begrudge the extra fire-power. He climbed in, nodding to Cody and the other troopers, before joining Anakin in the cockpit.

“Just in time,” Anakin said, “I was worried I was going to have to report you to Master Yoda for tardiness.”

“I’m sure you were aghast,” Obi-Wan said, settling down. “Perhaps, after last time, _I_ should pilot?”

Anakin shot him a quick, dark look. “No one could have landed that transport.”

“Mm,” Obi-Wan leaned back, not really interested in arguing about it. He shut his eyes for a moment, just a moment, as Anakin took them out into space. Exhaustion dogged all of their steps in the war, exhaustion and injury. He just needed to rest, just for a moment.

He woke, sometime much later, to Anakin’s voice, “Hey, we’re here. At the coordinates, anyway, but I’m not seeing—”

His words ended in a shout as the ship suddenly lurched sideways, alarms screaming to life around them.

Obi-Wan swore, listening to the troopers yell in the back as Anakin wrestled with the controls. Around the cabin, sensors blared and flashed. Outside the views-screens, giant rocks and hunks of twisted metal cluttered the surrounding space. Anakin threw them into a barrel role to avoid a head-on collision. “What’s going on?” Obi-Wan demanded, the dredges of sleep clinging to his mind.

“I don’t know! There was nothing on sensors a second ago! It must be some kind of trap!”

Something hit their tail. They spiraled.

“Hold on!” Anakin bellowed. “There’s a planet down there! I’m going to try to set us down!”

The next few minutes were a nightmare Obi-Wan had lived too many times before. For such a stunning pilot, Anakin crashed a tremendous amount of ships. They came to a jerking rest, eventually, on the planet’s surface, upside down. Obi-Wan groaned, hanging by his belt, a headache throbbing at the back of his head. “Is everyone alright?” he called, unlatching the restraints and falling carefully to the ceiling. Beside him, Anakin landed on the balls of his feet.

Various affirmations echoed back to him.

“Everyone but the ship,” Anakin muttered, poking at the controls and scowling when sparks exploded up around his hands. R2 warbled unhappily, laying on his side and failing to leverage himself back upright. One of the troopers gave him a hand as Obi-Wan ducked back into the ship’s main hold.

As one, the troopers all turned to look at him, a strange reaction that drew him up short so quickly that Anakin walked into his back. “Is there a problem?” Obi-Wan asked, stepping over to the hatch. They best find out where they’d landed—perhaps they’d managed to hit the planet they intended to reach, if nothing else.

“You’re hurt,” Cody said, suddenly much closer.

Obi-Wan blinked at him, vaguely aware of a sting along his hairline. In the grand scheme of injuries he’d taken, the wound barely registered. “This?” He brushed his fingers across the graze. “It’s nothing—Commander!”

Cody had reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan’s chin, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at the injury. He blinked at Obi-Wan’s reprimand and stepped hurriedly back. “Sorry, sir. Don’t know what came over me.”

Obi-Wan eyed him, the process made difficult when Anakin stepped between them. “I’m sure we’re all a little shaken up,” Obi-Wan said and opened the hatch.

Warm, humid air flooded into the ship. The sky outside was a clear, pale blue, completely cloudless. They’d crashed in the midst of a forest, the ship catching up against a gigantic tree with gray bark and purple foliage. Obi-Wan made to step out, and Anakin pushed past, standing in the doorway for a moment and scanning the area before finally moving aside.

“Where are we?” one of the troopers asked, turning in a slow circle, blaster cradled against his chest.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and breathed deeply, focusing on the Force for an answer to that question. The area around him felt saturated with the Force, it hummed through the surrounding plant life—there was a shocking lack of _animal_ life—all of it flowing outward, past them, from some spot ahead. The Force signature grew weaker and weaker in the other direction, until it faded completely. And from the source Obi-Wan sensed tremendous power.

He opened his eyes to find thirteen sets of eyes on him once more and cleared his throat. “I believe,” he said, “that we’ve reached our destination.”

#

Anakin could feel the upwelling of the Force that Obi-Wan noticed, if he concentrated, but it was difficult. There were other matters, closer at hand, that distracted his senses.

Since they had landed, Obi-Wan _shone_ , warping Anakin’s perceptions, drawing his attention on a constant basis. When he spoke, he was all Anakin could hear. Even his breathing seemed to echo loudly. Anakin wanted to stand beside him, to reach out and touch his glowing skin, to crowd him somewhere private, and…

Well.

The urges were not unfamiliar, but usually they were not so overwhelming. And they did not usually effect so many others. Anakin cast one of the troopers a dark look when the man approached Obi-Wan and leaned in very close to ask a question, his nose very nearly brushing the fall of Obi-Wan’s hair.

Anakin scowled and displaced the trooper, and Obi-Wan flashed him a confused look. He had not noticed, then. That wasn’t a surprise. He never seemed to notice anything to do with his nature. It was something to do with the suppressants.

All the omegas in the Order took the meds, to tightly control their biology. The drugs worked very well, because Anakin always noticed when they stopped—it had happened a few times before, when Obi-Wan was not in a position to take them, when someone had poisoned him, when they were overwhelmed by some outside influence.

The first time had been on Geonosis.

Anakin would never forget it.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. This did not feel _quite_ like Geonosis, or even Zygerria, the last place Obi-Wan had been prevented from taking the suppressants, and Anakin had gone half-mad. Perhaps more than half-mad. The urge to strip Obi-Wan to his skin, to learn the taste of his flesh, to take what he desired, was not overwhelming. It just itched at the back of his head, an awareness that Obi-Wan was right there, that he smelled delightful, and that there were many other alphas around, all of them threats.

Anakin’s temper jumped a notch higher.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, touching his shoulder, an invitation Anakin had to work to resist. “Is there a problem?”

“No. No problem.” Maybe Obi-Wan had just taken his meds a little late. Maybe the crash had just thrown Anakin’s senses into overdrive. They had bigger things to worry about than the simmering want in Anakin’s spine. “Let’s move out.”

#

They left Anakin’s droid back with the ship; there was no good way to carry it across the wild terrain. The going was slow enough as it was. Someone seemed constantly to be under Obi-Wan’s feet, either one of the troopers or Anakin. Their first break came as a relief, though he didn’t understand why everyone clumped up so close. Perhaps the troopers were sensing something of the planet’s Force signature. It _was_ very powerful. It could instill anxiety in someone without the Force sensitivity to understand it.

In any case, Obi-Wan didn’t truly mind. It was nice having everyone so close, though Anakin seemed to disagree, glaring and grinding his teeth together. Obi-Wan nudged his shoulder and asked, quietly, “Everything alright?”

 “Fine,” he said, his voice thick.

Obi-Wan gave him a worried look, leaning closer, and Anakin stood. “We should keep going. Hard to tell how long we have until nightfall.”

Obi-Wan nodded, hoping that whatever they found on the planet was worth whatever oddness was afflicting the others.

#

The situation worsened throughout the day. Anakin’s awareness of Obi-Wan grew, and he saw the same thing happening to the troopers. They scented him whenever he wasn’t looking and circled around him like predators, shooting each other dark looks and the occasional growl.

He wondered if they knew what was happening to them. Anakin knew from experience that the Kaminoans hadn’t included information about the breeding drive in the clone’s training—a pretty critical mistake when you created an army of alphas, in Anakin’s opinion—but this particular group had been out in the galaxy for years, much of that time spent with Obi-Wan. Most of them must have picked up _some_ understanding of their biology.

Certainly, none of them seemed surprised. Maybe this had happened before, on one of their missions. Maybe they knew exactly what was going on. Maybe they were just waiting for an opportunity to get Obi-Wan away from him. They were so familiar with Obi-Wan. Well, if they thought they were going to touch _his_ —

Anakin cut the thought off, trying to find his center in the Force.

Obi-Wan dragged his attention off course, pulling at him like gravity.

By evening, when the strange sky began to darken to purple, Anakin had to pull Obi-Wan aside. He had no choice. He’d never had much self-control, and already the pull wore at him, especially when they were forced to be so close—especially with Obi-Wan’s injury. The smell of blood tore at him, keeping his hackles permanently raised and running a low current of energy through his muscles at all times.

He waited until Obi-Wan set up his makeshift tent and then, taking a bracing breath to prepare, cleared his throat to announce his presence and ducked inside.

Obi-Wan looked over immediately, his robe loosened as he dragged a dampened cloth across his throat, Anakin’s gaze pulled helplessly along with it. “Anakin,” he said, his accent shaping the name so beautifully that Anakin’s hand twitched. “I was just coming to find you.”

Anakin shoved down the instinctive swell of pleasure at the words. This wasn’t the time, and, anyway, Obi-Wan didn’t mean it the way his treacherous hindbrain hoped. He tugged the tent closed and, seeing no other way forward, dived directly into the issue. “Your suppressants are failing.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, pausing in the midst of laving his neck. A drop of water escaped the rag and slid down towards his collarbone, leaving behind a trail of slightly cleaner skin. He straightened his back, as though proper posture would somehow serve as a barrier to the impropriety of the conversation Anakin had just broached. “Excuse me?”

“Have you run out? Did you forget to take them? Because—”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped, remonstrative, but with a hint of red creeping across the skin above his beard. “This line of questioning is most inappropriate. I assure you, I have _not_ suddenly grown lax in the matter of my personal health.”

Well, that wasn’t a lie, Anakin had to admit with a roll of his eyes. There was no _suddenly_ about Obi-Wan’s lack of concern about his own wellbeing. He’d been jumping in front of blaster bolts far too long for that to be the case. Still, Anakin desperately wanted to be free of this conversation, even if he did not want to leave the tent. Force, but the smell was strong in here, and Obi-Wan was so close, and they were alone. He took a step forward before he could stop himself, swallowing thickly. His voice came out far too low when he spoke, “Then there’s a problem with this place, or something. I don’t know. But they’re….” He realized he was prowling in a circle, around Obi-Wan, only when Obi-Wan turned to keep him in sight. He ground his teeth together and held still, looking away from Obi-Wan’s elegantly arched eyebrow.

“How are you so sure?” Obi-Wan asked, cocking his head to the side. His hair fell forward; it looked so soft against his skin.

_I want to taste your throat_ , Anakin thought. _I want to kiss your stomach. I want to tear apart your robes._

He was not unfamiliar with those feelings. He’d had years of practice controlling them. Even taken momentarily off-guard, he managed not give voice to any of those thoughts. He hadn’t expected Obi-Wan to ask. He’d expected, in fact, for Obi-Wan to skewer this conversation and shoo him away, distraught by the lack of civilization his former apprentice displayed.

Anakin didn’t want to answer. But, Force, he couldn’t bring himself to deny Obi-Wan. Not now. Not with him smelling so good. And so he said, “I… remember what it’s like. It happened before. On Geonosis, do you remember? They’d already held you captive for so long that by the time we reached you…”

Geonosis had been terrible for, oh, so many reasons. Not least because it was the first time Anakin had scented Obi-Wan and felt something deep and primal and unacceptable stir to life in his chest. It had ruined everything, stepping into that arena and having his entire being focus on his Master, chained to a pillar, helpless and beautiful and _his_.

He had loved Padme before that, he had. He’d known it. She was beautiful and smart and kind. Perfect. She would have been a wonderful wife. But Obi-Wan had ruined that, because, after, when Anakin had tried to kiss her, he’d felt nothing but a shadow of the desire burning deeper in his veins. She’d pulled away, like she’d been able to tell, and granted him a sad smile, and they’d never spoken of what could have blossomed between them, ever again, though they’d remained very close.

She could not stir the fire in him, the mad desire that had driven him to foolishness on that cursed planet. He’d been young then, stupid, overcome with the need to impress everything Obi-Wan represented. The foolhardy desire to prove himself had cost him a hand, at the end of the day, and very nearly both of their lives, but he could not have stopped, could not have held back. He had _needed_ Obi-Wan to see he was grown, and strong, and capable. Worthy.

It had not happened.

And by the time they were both freed from the healers, Obi-Wan was back on his suppressants, the intoxicating call of his flesh buried by chemicals. Anakin had hoped, then, to tuck his reaction away, to be unaffected, to go back to the way things were.

He’d managed, mostly.

Some of the time.

In the tent, Obi-Wan’s eyes widened with something like either shame or horror, and Anakin swallowed the rest of the words he could have spoken, about other times the suppressants had failed and nearly driven Anakin to madness. “I had not realized,” Obi-Wan said, stiffly. “Perhaps it is something in the atmosphere, weakening the effects of the suppressants. Is it…” He glanced at the ground then, quickly closing up his tunic. “Intolerable?”

“No.” Anakin cleared his throat, desperate to disguise the darkening of his voice. Obi-Wan relaxed, a miniscule amount, and Anakin winced, knowing he had to steal away Obi-Wan’s relief. “Not yet. But I’ve noticed it… worsening. We should do our best to finish the mission quickly and get off this planet.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, haunted for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes,” he said, “of course.” And then he straightened, all evidence of concern washed from his features. “Perhaps I should travel ahead. The men…”

He left it unspoken, but it hung between them nonetheless, perfectly understood. All of the troopers were alphas, save a few who had ended up otherwise through a mistake in the cloning process. A lone omega in the midst of so many, coming off of suppressants, no less, could not count on a pleasant experience.

The thought poured liquid anger down Anakin’s spine. He shoved the emotion aside, even as he felt his jaw clench. “I don’t think we’re at that point,” he said, more than half a lie. They were _past_ that point. Maybe they had been for years. He didn’t want Obi-Wan traveling away from him. He desired closeness, far greater closeness than he was currently experiencing, in fact. But he pushed that away, as well, shaking his head to clear it. Anyway, Obi-Wan didn’t need to worry about the troopers.

If it came to it, Anakin was going to make sure he got there first and he had no qualms about protecting what was his.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said, unaware of the heat in Anakin’s thoughts. “Well. I suppose we’ll just have to monitor the situation. Until it worsens, I shall try to get some rest. We have a long way to go tomorrow. The Force signature still feels very distant.” He smiled, an expression that sat awkward on his face, and stared until Anakin realized he was being gently asked to leave.

He didn’t go far. Despite his assurances to Obi-Wan, the troopers _were_ finding excuses to be very close to Obi-Wan’s tent, casting it looks out of the corners of their eyes and getting increasingly snappy with one another. Anakin settled down a few feet away, resting against a large rock, and unclipped his lightsaber. He felt far better, having it on-hand.

#

Obi-Wan sat in his tent and tried to meditate. Sleep evaded him, or he evaded it; either way, the results were the same. After Anakin brought the matter to his attention, he wondered how he had missed his… little problem. His skin felt hot and too tight over his bones. His clothes itched. His lips felt sensitive and heat had settled low and insistent down below his gut. He _ached_.

It was not a completely unfamiliar situation. His suppressants had worn off before, on Geonosis, as Anakin had mentioned, and at other unpleasant times. It always occurred when he had far bigger problems than an unfortunately quirk of his biology, just as it had this time.

He had dealt with it before, and he would deal with it now, he repeated, over and over, breathing slow and deep, trying to release the heat into the Force.

Outside, he could sense Anakin—close, situated between his tent and everyone else. His mouth twitched upwards before he mastered the expression. Focusing on Anakin would be a mistake, he knew from experience. He remembered Geonosis too well. He’d burned with heat, his arms bound under the sun, half-crazed with need, _smelling_ Anakin when he rode in on the chariot and thinking—

Well, thoughts no Master should have about his Padawan.

Obi-Wan had managed that day, though he wondered, sometimes, if he would not have made better decisions—if he would have beaten Dooku—if he had been in a different state. He had managed the issue every other time it arose, as well. But he did wish Anakin was not so _close_. Or, alternatively, that he was much, much closer.

Obi-Wan shivered and sunk deeper into the cool, safe embrace of the Force. Beyond Anakin, he sensed the troops, much closer than he expected. He did not dip into their feelings, but that mattered little. The reached towards him, instinctively, hungrily, and he felt it quicken his breath, back in the cage of flesh and bone that served as his body. Past them, he had to move past them, out to the calming life of the planet. Trees felt very little in the way of lust, beyond a vague fondness for certain insects.

He drifted through them for hours, leeching his cursed state into their bark and roots, where it could do no more than speed the flow of sap, stretching out further and further from the tent. Calmness settled through him, the ache in his gut dulling to almost nothing.

And then his mind brushed _something else_.

#

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin had no memory of getting to his feet, no memory of jumping the distance to Obi-Wan’s tent, no memory of pushing through the flap. His saber glowed in his hand. Obi-Wan knelt on the ground, bent over, one hand braced on the dirt, the other clenched in his robes over his chest. He gasped for breath, still projecting alarm into the Force.

Anakin fell beside him after determining that no threat loomed in the tent. The morning sun crept through the tent flap, shining on the copper in Obi-Wan’s hair and the tremble in his fingers. “Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, more softly, daring to reach out, though he knew he ought not, to brush his fingers over the edge of Obi-Wan’s shoulder blade.

Obi-Wan twitched, looking up at him with eyes that were suddenly all pupil, hot and dark and wanting.

And then Obi-Wan shook his head, covering his face with one hand. “I’m fine,” he said, barely a trace of a lie in his voice. He stood, Anakin’s hand sliding down his back. “But we must go. Now.”

“Why? Obi-Wan, what’s going on?” He couldn’t pick up Obi-Wan’s anxiety through the Force, Obi-Wan had too much control for that, but they’d been around one another for so many years now, he saw it anyway. And at that moment he hated it, perhaps more than he ever had. He wanted to find whatever was upsetting Obi-Wan and kill it. He forced his fists to unclench.

Obi-Wan began breaking down his tent with quick, practiced movements. His back was to Anakin when he spoke. “It’s Maul. And his… brother. They are moving towards our position, at some speed.”

Anakin cursed, the anger in his gut bubbling hotter. _Maul_. Now there was a man who didn’t know how to die properly. He helped Obi-Wan pack up, instinct in the back of his head prompting him to assist, to show how useful he could be, to prove he was…. well. “Why would Maul be here?”

“I’m not sure,” Obi-Wan said, too perfectly.

Anakin grabbed his arm—only a layer of fabric separated their skin and Anakin was completely, painfully aware of it—and halted his progress. Obi-Wan glanced up, eyes bright through his lashes, lips parted. Anakin licked his lips. “But you have an idea, don’t you? He’s here after you. Again.” Maul’d picked the wrong time to try it. Anakin was very much in the mood to make sure he stayed dead.

Obi-Wan’s eyes were so clear. Even when they darted to the side. Anakin tightened his grip, just a little, and Obi-Wan shivered before he spoke. “You might be correct.”

Anakin scowled, opening his mouth, only to be interrupted when the tent flap was pushed aside.

Cody stood outside, a plate full of rations held in his hand. Anakin was suddenly aware of just how close he’d pulled Obi-Wan, the way Obi-Wan had to tilt his head up, the warmth of his body. Cody narrowed his eyes, straightening just a little, and said, “I thought you might be hungry, General. You didn’t eat much last night.”

Obi-Wan shrugged out of Anakin’s grip, the moment between them broken. “Thank you, Commander.” He took the food with a smile—was it larger than it would have been yesterday? Did it promise more? Anakin looked over Obi-Wan’s head, scowling, and found Cody already glaring at him. The man’s hand had settled naturally on his blaster.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, snagging their attention in an instant. He blanched, looking at them, and said, carefully, “I think its best we move now. While we still can.”

“Of course, sir,” Cody said. “Right away.” And he put his hand on Obi-Wan’s back, to lead him out of the tent.

Anakin exhaled black rage into the Force, not quite far gone enough to go for his saber.

#

Obi-Wan had hoped that, perhaps, the atmosphere of the planet was simply weakening the strength of his suppressants, or making the alphas around him more sensitive to whatever pheromones escaped chemical control. By the time they began moving through the forest, he’d abandoned that idea as a foolish fantasy. It was getting worse, with every passing moment.

The troopers all watched him constantly, solicitous to him and increasingly aggressive with one another. Cody and Anakin stuck close to him, glaring at one another if they thought he wasn’t looking. And they kept touching him. Anakin steadied him unnecessarily as they climbed a particularly steep hill, or brushed imaginary dirt off of his cheek, or simply bumped into him with every step. Cody tapped his hip to draw his attention to a choke spot that would be perfect for an ambush, circled his wrist to ask him a question, and his hand kept finding its way to Obi-Wan’s back. It built and built.

By midday, Obi-Wan could no longer tell himself that he was unaffected.

He ached. His skin felt hot. It felt not dissimilar to drinking too much. He desired the feel of skin on skin, the warmth of a body against his, hot breath, and—

Anakin sucked in a breath beside him and growled, “You’re projecting.”

“Apologies,” Obi-Wan said, but he could feel the grin on his mouth. He did not feel very sorry at all. He needed to meditate. It had helped, briefly, the previous night. But they did not have time to stop. He breathed deep, focusing on the Force, drawing what strength from it he could, even as it increased his awareness of the emotional state of everyone around him. There was _so much_ want, and he swayed, dizzied.

Anakin and Cody both reached for him. He felt the movement and snapped, “No, don’t.” If they touched him in that moment, he did not know what would happen, but he had an idea. He sank to a knee, his fingers pressed into the earth where he expelled as much of the heat from his skin as he could. They hovered above him, listening better than they otherwise would—they wouldn’t want to irritate him, not now. Not with so many other options for him to choose from. It was a terrible kind of power to have, a terrible type of thing to know about your friends.

He stood, feeling a dozen sets of eyes on him.

“I’m going to scout ahead,” he said, and then, sensing the protests before they could occur, “not too far. I am certain you will all be aware of it if I require any sort of assistance.”

He moved forward before anyone could catch him back, gaining some necessary distance.

#

The distance helped, in a way. Anakin’s head felt clearer. But he kept stretching his senses out, making sure that Obi-Wan was alright, that he needed nothing, that he was _close_. Anakin didn’t like him so far away, but, at the same time, something about the distance appealed in a terrible, hungry way.

Obi-Wan ran ahead.

They chased him.

The best of them would catch him.

It felt _right,_ to something deep and dark in the back of Anakin’s head. It felt as it should be.

Anakin pushed the thoughts away, managing to drag his mind around to the larger concerns of the mission. It was easier to accomplish without Obi-Wan’s scent quite so present in his nose.

They were making good time, if nothing else the fire in their bones could be harnessed to a good turn of speed. They’d reach their destination in another day, perhaps two, if they kept up their pace. Then they would know if tey trip to this cursed place was worth it.

Maul made everything more complicated. Anakin hated everything he’d learned about the filthy Sith. He’d killed Qui-Gon, which was reason enough to want him dead. And he’d lacked the good grace to stay in the grave. Instead he’d come back, madder even than he’d been before, according to Obi-Wan, the only one who would truly know. He’d nearly killed Obi-Wan twice now, and the fact that he’d showed up on this planet, at this time, with Obi-Wan in such a state, filled Anakin’s gut with hot plasma.

He had never asked if Maul was an alpha.

He wished he had.

They let Obi-Wan stay ahead until the sun began to set and then Anakin sighed and sped up to catch him. He was unsurprised when Cody kept pace. Anakin’s jaw twitched and he shoved the rising irritation in his chest aside. They caught up with Obi-Wan on the banks of a river. He knelt on the bank, dragging his fingers through the burbling water. He glanced over his shoulder as they approached and _Force,_ he was so beautiful. Anakin took three steps purposefully forward before a warning rumble from Cody drew him up short.

_How dare—_

“Anakin. Commander.” Obi-Wan said, before Anakin could thumb on his saber. He rose to his feet, all easy, tempting grave. “Something you needed?”

_You_ , Anakin thought and gritted his teeth. “It’ll be dark soon,” he said, instead.

Obi-Wan glanced at the sky as though just noticing the state of the day. “So it will. I think we should push on through the night. Our guests are gaining on us.”

It would hardly be the first time they’d marched through the night. And Anakin was just sane enough to realize that the continued movement might be the only way Obi-Wan was going to make it through the night with his virtue intact.

“I’ll let the men know,” Cody said and turned aside to speak into his radio, so eager to please that Anakin wanted to rearrange his face—letting them work so closely together for so long was obviously a mistake. It had bred familiarity. He grounded the anger out through his boots, not about to be upstaged by some foot soldier who’d only know Obi-Wan for a few years.

“You look hungry,” Anakin said, instead of anything else. It was true. Obi-Wan looked flushed, spent, in need of a bed… He strangled that thought to a stop. “I’ll find you something, if we’re going to keep going.”

#

Obi-Wan watched Anakin leave, bemused, and reached out to touch the nearest tree, feeding all the unwanted emotions and heat into the vastness of it. It helped, immediately. His body temperature felt as though it dropped by entire degrees in an instant.

“Sir,” Cody said, putting himself between Obi-Wan and the rest of the group, drawn up and ready for a fight. “Can I have a word?”

“Of course, commander.” Obi-Wan smiled. It did interesting things to Cody’s expression and made him swallow heavily. Obi-Wan refocused on the tree. It could take more, he decided.

“We—the men and I—we talked about it, sir. We thought…” He took a deep breath there, obviously trying to steady himself and making a mistake of it, if the way his eyes darkened was anything to go by. His voice had roughened when he spoke again. “We thought you might want to, well, come to a decision about how you wanted this to go. Now. Before things progress.”

Obi-Wan was impressed. All those battles really had made them very brave, to broach such a topic. He asked, tilting his head to the side, not as horrified as he knew he should have been by the breach in manners, “Did you?”

Cody’s gaze flicked down to his mouth when he spoke, then returned to restlessly scouting the area. “We did, sir. And we wanted you to know that we’d respect any… decision you made. We know how to control ourselves, you don’t need to worry about that. But we _are_ ready to help. I, personally, would be honored to assist you.”

Obi-Wan wetted his bottom lip. “In my time of need?”

And _that_ got Cody’s complete attention. “Indeed,” he said, taking a step closer.

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and focused on bark and roots and things that made sense. It only took a moment to manage. “It won’t come to that,” he said, trying to sound surer than he felt. “We’ll be off this planet soon and this will all be cleared up.”

Cody neither agreed nor disagreed. He just stared and said, finally, “As you say, sir. But if the mission takes a little longer than that… we were also hoping for some direction on how you wanted to handle Skywalker.” He growled the name.

Obi-Wan blinked, a shiver running down his spine—he needed to pull together, but it was difficult, so difficult. He could not deny, not in the hormone-bared darkness of his thoughts, the truth of his situation. He was an omega, surrounded by alphas, well on his way to the point of no return. And, while he respected his troops, felt a fondness for them, knew them to be good, strong, _loyal_ men…

His body held a definite preference for how he’d like this to end.

One he would rather it did not.

Apparently, Obi-Wan’s silence prompted Cody to continue. “We can ensure he doesn’t get to you,” Cody said, with a level of surety that Obi-Wan frankly doubted they could back up. Oh, they were fierce warriors, to be sure. But Anakin was something else. “But it’ll be… a permanent kind of insurance.” His hand drifted to his blaster. “We’d like to give you the choice, about how you’d like us to handle it.”

Never in his life would Obi-Wan have expected to be asked by his commander if he wanted his former Padawan killed. The world felt even more sideways than it had mere moments before. He did have to credit their control, if nothing else. Most of the other alphas he’d met would never have thought to ask. The self-control and the concern for his wishes pleased him, deeply. Cody would be fierce and true to him, a worthy mate and, Obi-Wan struggled to think clearly, at least if Obi-Wan chose him, Anakin would not be dragged into this terrible mess.

It was no longer Obi-Wan’s duty to protect him, but that was often hard to remember. Anakin did not deserve to suffer for Obi-Wan’s weakness. He was too important to be dragged into this mistake, not when it could be avoided. Only one of them needed to face the judgement of the Council, after all. So perhaps Cody was his best path forward. The Council would do nothing to him, afterwards. Clones were _not_ forbidden from attachment.

It seemed logical, despite the stubborn insistences of his gut and blood.

Force, he needed help. He drew deeply on the power around them and managed to clear his head for a blissful moment. “It won’t come to that,” he repeated, hanging onto the lie with the skin of his teeth.

“Alright,” Cody agreed. Was he closer? He _was_ , and moving closer still. Obi-Wan’s back bumped the tree. Cody’s hand pressed against the bark above his shoulder. Their noses brushed. “But if it _does?_ ”

A low snarl was all the warning Obi-Wan got that things were about to go sideways.

And then there was a black-clad back pressed against his chest, the back of Anakin’s head blocking most of his vision—he could just see Anakin’s fingers around Cody’s throat.

And he thought _yes_.

And he thought _no_.

And he ordered, “Stop it, both of you!”

He slid from between Anakin and the tree, Anakin making an abortive attempt to grab him back as he went. They’d found themselves in a fine tableau. The barrel of Cody’s blaster pressed against the side of Anakin’s throat; Anakin’s saber was flush against the armor under Cody’s arm. They both trembled, holding still, held by some measure of sanity, or a baser drive not to upset Obi-Wan, it was hard to tell which.

“Enough,” Obi-Wan snapped, tugging a hand back through his hair in agitation. His fault—this was his fault—he was going to get someone killed. He turned aside, drowning in guilt, missing the snarls and shoves as Anakin and Cody broke apart, both hurrying to follow him.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said, slinging his arm across Obi-Wan’s shoulders, the weight pleasing and good and wrong, “I thought he was forcing—”

“I said enough!” Obi-Wan shouted, spinning away, his heart beating too fast, his body full of an empty ache that demanded filling. He needed—space. Yes. This would be better if he could just get some space. He gulped at the air and found something close enough to balance, after a moment. “We will maintain our distance, from now on.” He turned on his heel and marched off, feeling their eyes heavy on his back. He would not run, decided. That would be a mistake, surely. Predators chased, if you ran.

But, oh, maybe he wanted them to.

#

Anakin marched through the night in an angry haze, furious with Cody for daring to box Obi-Wan in, furious with himself for leaving them alone, furious with Obi-Wan for leaving his side, where he belonged.

This delay was foolishness. Anakin _knew_ how this had to end, knew it in his bones, had known it since Geonosis. Obi-Wan called to him, in a way no one else in the universe ever had. They were meant to be together, one way or another or every way imaginable, and dragging this out was madness, cruel, pointless in the extreme—

Eventually the hot tangle of his thoughts subsided, somewhat. The madness faded back. He breathed in and breathed out without wanting to tear Cody limb from limb.

It was a relief, but still, they kept their distance from one another. The troopers seemed to have worked the situation out among themselves, putting Cody forward for all of the rest of them; perhaps it made sense from their point of view. In any case, the rest of them no longer felt like much of a threat. Just Cody stood as a challenger. Cody… and one other, further back, but close enough now to tug at Anakin’s senses.

Maul. He felt like an alpha. It appeared Anakin’s first instinct had been correct. The servos in his mechanical hand whirred as he tightened his fist, scowling. It was Maul’s presence that eventually drove Anakin over to Cody. After all, if Cody was his only real threat it made him, in a way, the only one Anakin could trust. He fell into step beside the trooper and asked, “What do you know about Darth Maul?”

It was the first time anyone had spoken in hours. True dark had long ago fallen. Cody glanced at him sideways. “As much as I could find out from the records.” At Anakin’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “He tried to kill my general, sir.”

“Yes.” Anakin smothering the resurgent flair of anger at the possessive language. “Well. He’s here.” Cody swore, low and with feeling. “Exactly,” Anakin said.

“He’ll be coming for Kenobi,” Cody said, grim and sure. They both contemplated that terrible thought for a moment, and then Cody continued, “The reports I read… They said General Kenobi cut him in half.”

“That hasn’t slowed him down so far.”

“How long do we have?”

Anakin shrugged. “Hopefully long enough. But he’s moving fast. If we don’t figure this out soon, we’ll have to stop him.”

Cody grunted. “Not an activity I’m opposed to, sir.”

Anakin grinned, some of his anger at the other man fading away. It was a stupid rage, and he knew that. But Force, it was so hard to master, anyway. They walked beside one another, reaching something like an awkward truce, for the moment at least. Cody sighed. “This kriffing mission is a mess, sir. I’m just glad Ahsoka isn’t here.”

That nightmare played out behind Anakin’s eyes for a moment, drawing bile up the back of his throat. The thought of his young Padawan trapped here, exposed, like Obi-Wan, was horrifying. He shoved it away. “You and me both.”

#

They reached the foothills before morning. Hours before that it became apparent that what they were approached wasn’t _just_ a mountain. Towers rose here and there from the black stone, many of them collapsing. Someone—perhaps the rumored Jedi sect of antiquity—had built a city into the mountain, somehow. The remnants of architecture were finely constructed, but overgrown by the surrounding plant life, and falling to disrepair. The entire structure had been worn down by the processes of erosion, giving even the tallest of the towers an organic look, as though the mountain had been forced from the ground in the shape of human habitations.

Obi-Wan sensed _something_ from deep inside the mountain, the call of it increasing as he drew nearer and nearer to it. He hoped it was the weapon they’d come for, but so far nothing else about this mission had gone properly. He prepared for the worst.

The rest of the group followed behind him, like a pack of hunting animals. He could sense them, as well; they tugged on his hungry senses, promising a relief that he dare not indulge. Beyond them, he felt Maul, his presence dark and greedy and so close. He would be upon the clones soon—possibly before they reached the mountain.

Obi-Wan wondered if, at another time, if he were clear-headed, he would have turned and fought far earlier. Delay accomplished nothing. But something in his bones knew he ought to run. He wasn’t sure if it was the Force, or some other, baser instinct. It could not be denied, either way. And no one was going to disagree with him; it was a strange, incomplete sort of power he had over them.

Obi-Wan had read about situations like this. It had only been sensible, when he was given command of so many alphas, despite the dampening power of his suppressants. Issues were bound to arise, knowing his luck. So he had searched out information about omegas surrounded by alphas, to prepare himself, to understand what he might face.

He’d been surprised by what he found. A part of him had assumed he would need to live in constant care and fear. After all, did he not learn in the temple that alphas were wild things, prone to losses of control, driven to claim what they thought of as theirs, selfish, innately greedy creatures who had difficulty thinking of the greater good even in the best of times? It seemed to conflict with the papers he’d read, that reported solitary omegas living or working around large numbers of alphas as being safe, almost ridiculously so. They were well-protected, catered to, obeyed, their scarcity giving them a type of power. In general, the alpha they took as a mate shared their power in the group, though conclusions seemed divided as to whether the most powerful alpha took the omega for a mate, or whether the mating gave them the greater power.

Obi-Wan intended, _had_ intended, to never take a mate, and so had no way to dive into that particular mystery. But, in his case, Cody was already his commander….

But Cody was not the one his blood sang for, despite Obi-Wan’s attempts to apply logic to the situation.

Obi-Wan forced the thought aside. He would _not_ take the path his instincts demanded. Anakin deserved more than that from him, and would get it. He was the Chosen One. He could not be dragged into this bond of attachment. Obi-Wan would ensure it, one way or another.

He pushed on for the terrible mountain, gaining speed, releasing his exhaustion to the Force.

#

Obi-Wan stopped and waited for them in the mouth of a gigantic archway that led into the mountain. It was half-collapsed, but still impressive. Giant blocks of shiny, gray stone curved over his head, overgrown with vines. A set of huge doors, the metal discolored with time, barred the way. Obi-Wan had already cut three sides of a passage by the time they arrived. As Anakin watched, he finished dragging his lightsaber down and used the Force to shove out the section he had cut away.

Just in time.

Maul was overtaking them, quickly. His presence had become overwhelming. He would be upon them in only a moment.

Obi-Wan must have felt it as well. “Go!” he ordered, waving them forward. “Get inside!”

No one argued. Troopers hurried through, just as the first blaster bolt shot out of the surrounding woods.

Anakin swore, thumbing on his lightsaber, moving to stand between Obi-Wan and the woods, deflecting the next bolt. He saw a flash of red and black, out in the trees, and aimed the reflected bolt back towards it. Another flurry of bolts rained down, the stink of fired blasters filling the air as the clones shot back. Obi-Wan stepped to join him, saber activated and expression grim. Every instinct Anakin possessed screamed in horror.

He _knew_ Obi-Wan to be a terror on the battlefield. He _knew_ his old master could hold his own with nearly anyone. Everyone said Obi-Wan was one of the finest warriors of the age. But that was logic. Anakin found little and less room for logic in his mind.

Especially when Maul stepped out of the woods, moving too fast on his robotic legs, his teeth bared and his eyes the red of some maddened animal.

“Kenobi!” he roared. And he sent a wave of noxious hatred and lust through the Force, so powerful and horrible it hit even Anakin like a blow. Obi-Wan shuddered, gagged, and took one step back.

Mad fury took Anakin, then. He grabbed Obi-Wan and pushed him back, his eyes staying on Maul. He would end this. It couldn’t be allowed to continue. The threat was too high. Obi-Wan had beaten this monster as a Padawan. Anakin was a Knight, battle tested, strong in the Force. He would destroy Maul, rend his bones to dust, ensure he would not come crawling back to threaten Obi-Wan ever again.

Maul slowed his approach, only slightly, drawing his lightsaber and igniting it. “Give him to me,” he snarled, “and the rest of you can die quickly. You have my word.”

 “I’m going to kill you,” Anakin growled back. He wanted to stalk forward, but Obi-Wan was still at his back, trying to move around him, trying to endanger himself—brave and foolish to a fault. “Cody,” Anakin said, an order woven into the word.

 He knew Cody understood when Obi-Wan made a soft sound, protest and interest all tangled together. “Commander, I need to—”

“You need to come with me, sir,” Cody said, firm.

“Don’t touch him!” Maul yelled, any semblance of calm evaporating off of his face. “He is _mine_!” And he leapt, and then he was on Anakin in a fury of slashes. Anakin felt Cody dragging Obi-Wan away, towards the door.

“No, I need to— _Anakin_!” Obi-Wan yelled, something desperate in the tone, and for a moment Anakin’s thoughts disappeared completely. He shoved Maul away with a Force push, the Sith’s eyes going comically wide. He turned to Obi-Wan, struggling against Cody’s grip, trying to get to _him_ and something dark and pleased stirred inside him. He readied his saber, thinking of nothing but blood and what was his and—

And he forgot that Maul had, apparently, a brother now.

Anakin barely got his saber up in time to block the blow that would have taken off his head. Savage was gigantic and fought well—calmly. He was unaffected by the heat taking the rest of them, Anakin realized, after a moment. A beta. They spun and struck at each other, and Savage was impressive, but he was not Anakin’s match. He would be easily taken care of.

And then Maul leapt back into the fray.

Anakin snarled, blocking blows from both, aware that he was being driven slowly back towards the door, towards Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, who struggled behind him. Someone was yelling something, something about the mission. It was not directly important to Anakin, not at the moment. He could do it. He could take them both. He would. He had no choice. He—

Maul got under his guard. Anakin had a half-second to realize he was about to be stabbed, right through the chest, and—

Obi-Wan grabbed him from behind with the Force and _yanked_.

The world blurred.

Anakin collided with something soft and warm, something that grabbed at him with desperate hands. Obi-Wan. He’d been pulled through the passage. Inside, it was dark and dank and Cody yelled, “Clear!”

And the world exploded.

Anakin lay in Obi-Wan’s arms, in the aftermath of the controlled explosion, held while his ears rang. Rubble filled the tunnel mouth. Dirt and dust choked the air. The only light came from Anakin’s lightsaber, before one of the clones flicked on a lantern.

They were in a huge hallway, covered with some kind of shiny metal, scarred here and there by the effects of the eons. The tunnel mouth was filled with mountain, now.

The way had been blocked.

An issue Anakin could not focus on, because Obi-Wan was pulling at the front of his robes, desperation telegraphed in the tremble of his fingers. He was gasping, “Anakin, _Anakin_ , are you—did he—say something—”

And Anakin’s mind put two and two together, laying there in the darkness. Maul had stabbed Qui-Gon through the chest, hadn’t he? Exactly as he’d tried to do to Anakin. And Obi-Wan thought…

“Sh,” Anakin murmured, catching Obi-Wan’s hands and forcing them still, flat on his uninjured chest. “I’m fine. You pulled me back in time.”

“Thank the Force,” Obi-Wan swore, his fingers twining into Anakin’s robes. He pressed his forehead to the back of Anakin’s head, his breath stirring Anakin’s hair.

It was… disconcerting. How many times had Anakin wished for some slip of control from his perfect master? Some relaxation of the iron grip he seemed to hold on his emotions at all time? Well, now he had it. And it was terrible, horrible, _wrong_. He wanted it to stop, so badly that it cleared his head for a time, even with their closeness and the pleasure of Obi-Wan’s embrace.

“We should go, sir,” Cody said above them, stiff reproach in his tone. “No telling how long it’ll take them to get through that.”

#

They moved through tunnels Obi-Wan barely saw. The dust of centuries clogged the air, sticking in his nose and throat, thickening his lungs. The ceiling was high overhead. A mountain rested above it, offering them some degree of protection. The tunnel ran straight and true, the only obstacles the occasional fallen rock. Obi-Wan kept expecting to find bodies—the place felt like a tomb—but he spotted none as they walked. The lack made him nervous. Side tunnels split off, occasionally, leading to other entrances, or rooms, or… well. Who knew? The mountain was huge.

Obi-Wan ignored them. He could sense where he needed to go, and he dared not take longer than he needed to get there.

Besides, his thoughts were distracted with buzzing plans.

He had to get away from the group, he knew it now. Things had gone too far. Anakin followed him like a shadow, his eyes hungry and his fingers twitching out. The need would not be resisted for much longer, no matter how much of it Obi-Wan released into the surrounding stone, dragging his fingers across the wall to better facilitate the connection. There was just too much of it.

Obi-Wan did not need Yoda’s ability to see the future to know how things would go, if he remained with the group. His nerves were perfectly able to imagine the press of Anakin’s mouth to his skin, the pressure of Anakin’s fingers into his skin, the—

Anakin rumbled at his back, all the warning Obi-Wan got before he was pressed up against the nearest wall, Anakin plastered against his back, panting damply against his neck. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to—to insist they stay focused, and the edge of Anakin’s teeth dragged over his skin and he groaned, instead, tipping his head to the side.

A blaster whined, close by. “I think that’s enough, General,” Cody said.

Anakin growled, body coiling like a spring, and Obi-Wan caught his wrist before he could lunge. “Quite right,” he managed, through his dry mouth. “Thank you, Commander.”

They regained an uncomfortable distance from one another. Anakin stalked him. There was no other word that could be used for the way he moved. Cody kept his blaster drawn. It kept them focused, kept Obi-Wan from shedding his robes there and then, but, oh, it was a near thing.

He had to go. He had to get away, somehow, in this strange building. He would _not_ drag Anakin down into this with him, he would not. He should have handled it earlier, back in the woods. He should have… taken Cody aside, and done what needed doing, to end this. But he had been a fool and now there was no privacy, no distance. Someone would die, now, if he tried it.

He would not be responsible for killing any of these men.

So he had to go.

He acknowledged it was a bad plan, with Maul out there, no doubt trying to find his way in. Obi-Wan was in no fit state to fight. Things would… go badly for him, most likely. But that had never before stopped him from doing what he needed to do to protect Anakin, to protect his men…

He pushed more heat into the stone, by that point deeply connected to the mountain. A branching of the passages waited ahead, four paths converged at one point. Two ran towards the weapon, but one was badly damaged, nearly impassable. Obi-Wan could feel the correct choice. He felt, also, a weakness in the rock. It had been carved too thin above the connecting halls and at some point the earth had shifted. The structure would still have stood for a millennia—even weak stone was very strong—if left untouched.

A terrible knowledge of what he had to do filtered through Obi-Wan’s thoughts. He shuddered and sent tendrils of the Force towards the structural weakness, pulling and tugging as they got closer and closer.

He would not have much time to act. Anakin was as fast as he was—faster, some days. And a treacherous part of Obi-Wan did not want to go. But it had to be done. He would not fail Anakin more than he already had. He would _not_.

They stepped into the domed room, the four passages leading away from each other. Obi-Wan threaded tendrils of power around all the rocks. He panted, “Take the left path. It leads out.”

And then he leapt and he yanked. Anakin’s fingers dragged on the back of his robes, a second too slow to stop him. Obi-Wan landed in the far tunnel, rolling, as it collapsed behind him—and kept collapsing. He’d pulled too hard, or the structure was in worse shape than he’d realized. He swore, leaping forward, hurrying to outrun the falling mountain, sagging against a wall when the last of the rocks finally settled.

He bent and grabbed his knees in the dark—the light was back with the others.

There. Not even Anakin could get through _that_. Not in time. He would be angry, of course. But hopefully, once his mind cleared, he would also be grateful. Even if he was not, he would be safe, untouched by this mistake. It was worth it.

Obi-Wan turned his head and spat out dust. He unclasped his belt and struggled out of his outer robe, finally allowing himself to escape the terrible heat of it. There was no longer anyone he needed to protect. He thumbed on his lightsaber for the light of it and continued forward. He walked, growing increasingly dizzy, no longer bothering to feed the maelstrom inside his skin into the rock.

He wondered, blearily, how long it would take Maul to find him.

#

Anakin yelled and, when that proved fruitless, he pulled rocks from the collapsed tunnel, cursing.

“Sir!” He heard, eventually. “Sir, the collapse goes too far. We’ll never catch him this way.”

Anakin subsided, panting, a hundred feet down the collapsed tunnel, his lightsaber buried in the rock. He wanted to snarl and argue, but he could sense Obi-Wan, at least a klick away and moving further away by the second. He swore again, yanking his lightsaber free and stalking back along the passageway.

“Suggestions,” he snarled. No one even glanced towards the passage Obi-Wan indicated would lead them to fresh air. He could feel all of the troopers thrumming with the same terrible drive that fueled him. Obi-Wan ran—they would chase him.

Anakin would catch him.

It all made sense, down Anakin’s spine.

“This path—” Cody pointed at the tunnel to the right of the one Obi-Wan had taken. “—appears to parallel his route, sir, but it’s severely damaged.”

Anakin paused, already well inside the tunnel by the time the words registered. He could _feel_ Obi-Wan getting further away. Slowing down hurt. “How damaged?”

“We could probably make it, sir. With your help.” There was a but coming, Anakin felt it. He glanced back, impatiently. Each pump of his blood pushed against his skin, hot and wild. His senses dragged him forward. “But we’d slow you down, sir.”

Anakin stared. The clones were all clustered together, vibrating in their skin, just like Anakin. Cody ground his jaw from side to side and continued, “So, you ought to go on, with all due speed. We’ll follow as best we can. And, sir.” Anakin halted again, his legs moving without the need for instruction. He glared over his shoulder, impatient to be on his way. “We thought you should know. We don’t think the Council needs to know about anything that happens here. There’s been situations like this before. We know how to handle it.”

Anakin blinked, taken off guard by the words and everything they represented. Obi-Wan’s troops really _were_ loyal. It almost made him angry, but then again, almost everything did, at that point. And the mention of other situations pricked at his mind, drawing his attention. He didn’t have time to probe deeper at the moment, and tucked it away for later. He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Go on. Don’t let that kriffing Sith lay a hand on him, alright?”

Anakin flashed a smile, it felt sharp-edged as a blade. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He tore down the tunnel, with only the glow of his saber to illuminate the perils before him.

#

Obi-Wan realized, in a moment of increasingly rare clarity, that he should have sent Anakin and the others down the tunnel to the weapon. They would have had a better chance of completing the mission than he did. Or, at least, of completing it and then surviving to do anything about it. It was too late to go back and change things now.

He yanked at his tunic, exposing skin at his collarbone. He burned. His hips felt hot and sweat coated his skin, even in the chill of the tunnels. He had no idea how long he’d been walking, but the weapon felt close, so close.

So did Maul.

The thought brought bile to the back of Obi-Wan’s throat, where it sat and stung as the tunnel came to an abrupt stop, opening into a gigantic, round room. The room shone with faint golden light, reflected off of the walls from a tiny hole, far above, at the apex of the dome. Strange symbols were engraved on the walls, faintly resembling constellations. Strange, swirling formations rose from the floor, some of them only came up to Obi-Wan’s knees, others towered above his head. A path of shiny black wove between them, uncovered by dust.

Obi-Wan stepped onto it, following it as it threaded between the hulking shapes. The room was still, except for him. His feet made no sound on the tiles, which seemed odd. He was too dizzy to walk so quietly. He braced a hand on the formations as he walked and found them to be blood-warm to the touch and full of a strange kind of energy that stung his skin. He hissed and pulled away. The air in the room smelled like a thunderstorm. It grew stronger the deeper he moved into the room, and the humidity increased. He tugged at his tunic, distracted. One shoulder slipped off and the fabric hung awkwardly at his bicep and elbow.

The path doubled back on itself, twisted and curved. Obi-Wan followed it in a daze, vaguely aware that he could simply leap over the structures and make straight for the center of the room. It did not feel right. He walked, shoving his hair out of his face, until the path finally ended, leaving him in front of a raised platform in the center of the room.

He climbed it, more because it was in front of him than anything else, his purpose more than half-forgotten.

A pool, not of water, filled the center of the platform. Obi-Wan stood on the thin, golden rim and swayed, looking down into stars.  A thousand points of light glowed in the bowl, pulsing in a thousand different shades, their light soft and hard and dazzling. The blackness of space surrounded them, making them look brighter still, truer. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He fell to a knee, gasping, as the starlight washed over him, cooling the sweat on his skin, soothing him, granting him a moment of sanity

He wanted to fall into it, to give his body to the stars and their light. He reached out a shaking hand, tendrils of light curling around his fingers and then sinking down beneath his skin, the shock of it shooting down his arm and then his spine.

In that moment he saw Ahsoka being helped out of the bacta tank, and Master Yoda laughing with some younglings, and Plo Koon carrying a trooper on his back, and a black-clad figure standing in the Senate halls, and Anakin sprinting through the dark, and ships covered in dust, and a thousand other images, all at once—

He gasped, eyelids fluttering, and swayed, and perhaps he would have fallen in, then, had not fingers wound into his hair and yanked his head back.

“Kenobi,” a voice growled above him.

Maul.

Obi-Wan reacted on pure instinct. He had nothing else left to react with. His arm swung out towards Maul’s mechanical legs, his saber sizzling in the humid air. Maul swore and jumped away, releasing Obi-Wan’s hair. Obi-Wan rolled up, guarding just in time to block a wild blow aimed at his head. The Force moved through him, unimpeded by the clutter of thoughts, and he flowed around to redirect a slice from Savage, easily.

Maul roared, fury radiating off of him, redoubling his attack. The red and black of his tattoos bled together, in that room, smeared by the starlight. His scent carried on the damp air, suffocating and foul. Savage, on the other hand, seemed to blend almost into the background. A beta, Obi-Wan understood, and therefore not an immediate concern in his current state.

The three of them danced around the bowl of stars, and for a while Obi-Wan held his own. But he had not eaten in so long. And the fire had burned him to ash. He could not beat them both. Not alone. Not with the fire and ache in his gut. But he dare not let them win. He could read all of Maul’s intentions in his terrible yellow eyes and they were horrifying.

He would have to force them to kill him, then.

He sped his movements, attacking wildly, recklessly, hoping for a crazed blow. But they were both too clever for that. They did not remove his head, or gut him, or any of the things he had hoped. They merely defended, and he grew tired, energy expended, and it was, perhaps, not a surprise when Maul caught his wrist, spun him, and pulled him close.

Obi-Wan thrashed, twisting his saber around—and Savage yanked it from his fingers, tossing it aside. Maul’s arms encircled him, crushing too tight; the Sith’s skin burned hot against his flesh. He licked down the side of Obi-Wan’s face, and Obi-Wan yelled out—fear and horror clawing their way out of his throat—shoving with the Force, desperate and—

Savage backhanded him across the face, hard enough that the world spun.

When it righted itself, he was on his stomach, the black tiles surprisingly cool against his skin. One of them held his wrists at the small of his back, so tightly that his bones creaked. “Do you know,” Maul said, kneeling in front of Obi-Wan, his face a mask of unholy glee, “how long I have waited for this moment?”

Fabric tore.

Obi-Wan panted, “Stop.”

Maul laughed, reached out and dragged his fingers over Obi-Wan’s mouth. Obi-Wan tried to twist away and Maul grabbed his hair, yanking. “I knew this place would bring you to me. I knew you would fall right into my trap. It was so _easy_.” He laughed, wildly. “Beg all you want,” he said, “We don’t mind. Savage likes a fighter.” Hands clenched on his thighs.

And there was no escape. They were everywhere, all around, clogging up the Force with their foul presence. Obi-Wan could not breathe, could not think. Maul cocked his head, drinking in Obi-Wan’s expressions like a drowning man, and Obi-Wan, lost, with nothing else, broke his promises to himself and begged, “Anakin!”

Maul struck him again, sudden fury overtaking his features. “No! You will not call for him! For any other! Do you know how long I have waited for this? Do you know how carefully I planned your downfall? You are _mine_ , do you understand? Mine—”

And the room shook, a wave of familiar anger roiling through the Force. Maul jerked and barely managed to get his saber up in time to block Anakin’s attack, aimed at his neck. Anakin stood over them, power radiating off of him, and snarled, “ _Mine_.”

#

The tunnel was collapsed in places and full of chasms that seemed to have no bottom. Anakin _ran_ through it, drawing the Force around him and moving like wild lightning. Obi-Wan drew him like a magnet, pulling harder and harder and then—

He _felt_ Obi-Wan’s sudden explosion of fear like a physical blow. He tasted Maul on the air, a sour stench of death and decay, felt him close to Obi-Wan, and the rest of the tunnel passed in a blur. If asked to recount the experience later, Anakin would have come up blank. It did not matter to him. It faded to the background, to nothing, to just an obstacle to where he needed to be.

He vaguely registered bursting into a huge room, but he cared nothing for it. His thoughts were consumed with Obi-Wan. The rest of the world fell away. He found what he sought on the edge of a strange pool of light. Maul leaned over Ob-Wan; Savage knelt between his thighs. And the monsters claimed Obi-Wan for their own.

White-hot rage blossomed in Anakin’s head, unchecked by any fear of the Dark Side. He would kill them. Kill them both. He leapt down, ready to separate Maul’s head from his neck, disappointed when the Sith blocked him. “ _Mine_ ,” he snarled, uncaring about attachment, about anything. Obi-Wan had been his since the first time Anakin saw him. It was foolish to go on pretending otherwise. It was simply as the world was and Anakin would be _damned_ before he allowed any other to dispute his claim.

He dove into the fight, driving them back, away, away, off of Obi-Wan.

There was no thought to the fight, nothing but instinct and determination. The Sith fought with equal vigor, focused on destroying him utterly, and they were not weak foes. Anakin missed a step, prepared to swallow the pain and redouble his efforts, and a blue lightsaber turned aside the blade before it could land, Obi-Wan sliding in against his back, fighting with him shoulder to shoulder.

As it should have been.

They moved in synch with one another, Obi-Wan’s presence in the battle opening up new opportunities, because neither Sith seemed willing to risk a killing blow. Anakin seized on their hesitations, pressing the attack. He took Savage first, with a lucky strike under the Sith’s arm, his saber sliding from one side of the monster’s body to the other.

Maul screamed, the sound all rage, and leapt forward before Anakin had a chance to recover. Anakin realized he would die in a flash, taking a lightsaber through the body, and Obi-Wan leapt over him, all fluid grace, hit Maul full in the chest, and took him to the ground. There was the sizzle of a lightsaber against flesh. Maul’s limbs twitched for a moment. And then he went still, his Force signature disappearing.

Good.

Anakin looked across at Savage. Removed his head, just to be safe. He stepped to Obi-Wan, looked down, and found his master still holding his saber, the blue beam disappearing into Maul’s forehead.

Anakin thumbed the weapon off, and Obi-Wan looked up at him, still breathing hard, his eyes all pupil, his tunic torn open to his navel, and—

Anakin yanked him up, curled a hand around the back of his head, pulled him close, and kissed him, finally, desperately, needing to taste him, to lay claim to him. Obi-Wan melted against him, scrambling at his shoulders, and it was _perfect._

Anakin groaned, nipping at Obi-Wan’s lip. They stumbled a step, bumping into one of the strange structures in the room. Anakin pushed him against it, tugging and yanking at his tunic, kissing him hungrily.

Until Obi-Wan twisted his head to the side and gasped, “Wait.”

Anakin whined, pressed close, standing between Obi-Wan’s feet, feeling the delicious heat of him. But he waited, ignoring the urgent demands of his nerves, worsened by the fact that Obi-Wan had not relaxed his grip. He rasped, “Why?”

Obi-Wan laughed, thin and half-crazed. “I can’t—” His voice was a wreck. “I can’t do this to you, Anakin. Please. The Council will—will be—they will not understand—”

Anakin snorted, he gripped Obi-Wan’s chin and met his gaze. “With all due respect to the Council, I don’t care what they understand or do not.”

Obi-Wan’s lashes fluttered. Anakin wondered if he realized that he was rocking fitfully, tilting his hips up, so inviting that Anakin could barely string a thought together. “No, they’ll—they’ll punish you. And you—you wanted to be a Jedi, I can’t—I can’t—”

Anakin kissed him, deep and long. When he pulled back, Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed, his cheeks were red. “Obi-Wan,” he said, and watched him shiver with all evidence of pleasure, “they don’t have to know. And if they _do_ make me choose between _you_ and _them_. Well…” he chuckled, not recognizing the dark tone in the sound, bending to nuzzle at Obi-Wan’s neck. “I know who I’d choose. You’re mine.”

Obi-Wan shivered again and gasped, when Anakin sucked on the skin between his neck and shoulder. He clung tighter and offered no further protests when Anakin tugged at the remains of his tunic.

#

Obi-Wan had seen Anakin naked before, often enough. Battlefields led to that. But he’d never seen him naked and flushed. He’d never seen him naked and moving with purpose. Anakin had never looked at him with such a hot, hungry gaze before.

Anakin made a small nest with their robes and guided Obi-Wan down to it. He seemed to know how this should go. Anakin had crept away with what he thought was stealth to sate his impulses more than once in his Padawan days, each instance irritating some buried part of Obi-Wan’s psyche. Those assignations had ceased after Geonosis, to Obi-Wan’s relief. Obi-Wan found himself grateful for them, now. Each touch, each kiss, each press was a revelation to him, and he drowned in them, panting and writhing on their shed clothing, following Anakin’s lead.

Pleasure settled in his bones, as the empty ache inside him was filled. He surrendered to it, holding on tight while Anakin settled into every inch of him, blending them until they seemed to be of one flesh, their congress wordless and desperate, at least that first time.

Afterwards, Anakin panted against his skin, their bodies interconnected, Anakin’s elbows braced by his shoulders as Obi-Wan shook through the aftershocks, drunk on pleasure and relief. For a moment the heat retreated, like water running away from shore to build up a wave. “Anakin,” he gasped, when he felt it begin rushing back.

“Mm,” Anakin said, shifting deliciously, “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

Obi-Wan got lost in it.

#

Eventually, the madness had to pass. It did, at least enough to be noticed, when Anakin woke, curled against Obi-Wan’s back, his arm over Obi-Wan’s waist. Obi-Wan was already awake, his eyes open, looking at nothing in particular, all of his emotions tucked away and normal. His head was pillowed on Anakin’s arm. They were both naked and Anakin… noticed. He twisted to the side and sat up, suddenly unsure about everything.

He had gotten used to Obi-Wan’s presence overrunning his usual control, to knowing what Obi-Wan felt at all moments. It was both a relief to feel him recovered and intensely disorienting. He cleared his throat, unable to decide what to say.

After a moment, Obi-Wan sat up as well and hissed—just a little.

Anakin spun back. “Are you hurt?” He looked Obi-Wan over, head to toe, all the shame dissolved away just like that. There were… marks. Lots of marks. He could see the imprints of his hands, here and there, the shape of his mouth stained into Obi-Wan’s fair skin. He winced. “Did I hurt you?”

Obi-Wan waved a hand, glancing to the side. “Don’t be foolish. I’m fine.”

Anakin scoffed. “You _would_ say that. Let me check.” He reached for Obi-Wan, realized he had no idea where to grab, and decided to grit his way through. He only realized it had, perhaps, been a mistake when his hands touched skin and his body responded in a way he was poorly equipped to hide.

Obi-Wan met his gaze then, the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks, and asked, “How would you propose do that?”

Anakin glanced down, down over Obi-Wan’s collarbone, his chest, his stomach—

And Obi-Wan stood, pulling his pants from the pile of clothing as he rose. He pulled them on, but not before Anakin saw what was dried to his thighs and, well. By that point, Anakin had a definite problem. He focused on releasing it to the Force, to less than satisfactory results. He tugged on his pants, instead. They did a better job of concealing the issue.

He stood and followed Obi-Wan’s gaze, to Maul and Savage. They had spent their evening within twenty feet of the dead men. At the time, it had not mattered, but with the new clarity in his head Anakin felt furious. Obi-Wan had deserved better, for his first time—and Anakin did not doubt it had been. It only he had _not_ run off, they could have—

Anakin shook his head and took in the room now that he was clearheaded. He had vague memories of the pit of stars beside their makeshift bed. He stepped up to it, needing a bit of space, and asked, “This is the weapon, then?”

“Mm,” Obi-Wan answered, still staring at the dead bodies. “I suppose so. It doesn’t _seem_ to be a weapon, though. I… touched it. Earlier.” He sighed and stepped up onto the platform, a careful distance away from Anakin. “It showed me... images. Of different places. Different people. Ahsoka is recovered, by the way. I believe it may be some kind of amplifier for the Force.” He glanced at Anakin and then quickly away. “It could explain the effects of this planet.”

“Well.” There was a bruise along the curve of Obi-Wan’s neck. It matched Anakin’s mouth. His fingers twitched to touch it, but he had no idea what the rules were, for their situation, or what Obi-Wan wanted. “At least we’ve, uh, secured it.”

“I suppose so,” Obi-Wan said, and then whipped his head around, narrowing his eyes. A second later, Anakin heard the sound he’d noticed. Running feet, coming up one of the tunnels. Anakin counted twelve heartbeats and moved without thinking, stepping in front of Obi-Wan and igniting his saber just as Cody stepped through the doorway.

He watched Cody take in the scene across the room, the bodies, the strange structures, and their half-nakedness. He watched Cody sort it all out, somewhere in his head. “Everything all taken care of, then?” Cody asked.

“Yes, Commander,” Obi-Wan said, stepping around Anakin and reaching for his tunic. Anakin heard the troopers’ indrawn breathes, when they saw his skin. The look Cody shot Anakin promised an angry talk later, perhaps augmented by some pointed violence. “I believe it is. Come. I think I located some ships that may still be operational.”

#

The ships Obi-Wan had seen in the pool of stars worked. They broke orbit with little problem and managed to contact the fleet before any weapons fire was exchanged. They were allowed to land and Obi-Wan made his report to the Council only once he’d visited the fresher and dressed appropriately. He left out everything they need not know and, at least as holograms, they noticed no gaps in his story.

It was agreed that a platoon of clones would be left to guard the facility, and the Council expressed relief that two Sith had been disposed of. And that was that.

Obi-Wan stood in the meeting room, after the holograms flickered out, and stared at the bulkhead. He wished that it was so easy to sum up the mission in his own mind, but he remembered too well the taste of Anakin’s mouth, the feel of his skin, the way he had… well. He had not taken his suppressants again, yet. He had not even visited medical. That would have been awkward, requiring far too many question he did not want to answer.

Anakin cleared his throat in the doorway, and Obi-Wan turned to look at him, remembering the shift of muscles in his back, the way he kissed. “Is the Council satisfied?” Anakin asked, looked at him too sharply, and then away.

“For now,” Obi-Wan said, with a sigh.

“And you? Are you satisfied?”

Obi-Wan jerked his head up, and for a moment their gazes met. Obi-Wan felt phantom hands on his skin, shivered at the memory of Anakin’s breath panting against his shoulder, Anakin’s hands clenching around his hips.

He was ever so grateful when Ahsoka bounded into the room, brimming over with enthusiasm and the need to know how the mission had gone. He excused himself, taking advantage of Anakin’s distraction.

#

The aftermath of the mission kept Anakin busy for most of a day cycle, giving him something to think about besides the creamy expanse of Obi-Wan’s skin, the pound of his pulse, the sounds he had made when Anakin touched him. But briefings and forms could only fill so many hours, and, eventually, Anakin ended up standing outside of Obi-Wan’s quarters, the rest of the ship quiet around them.

The door opened before he rang the chime. “I can _hear_ you thinking,” Obi-Wan called from inside.

It was close enough to permission to enter. Anakin stepped into the room and waved the door closed, painfully aware of the little bed set off to one side. Obi-Wan was within arm’s reach. If he just… “Was there something you needed?” Obi-Wan asked. He looked just like his old self, already, except for the bruise just peeking out from above his collar.

Anakin stared at it as he answered, “I thought we should probably… talk about what happened.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. He said, after a moment, “Alright. I have no illnesses, if that is—”

Anakin barked a laugh then, all the tension wrung from him at the idea that Obi-Wan thought he was worried about STIs, of all things. He stepped forward, and Obi-Wan’s eyes widened as he gave ground. Anakin stopped. He could not read Obi-Wan’s feelings through the Force, he could not tell what prompted the movement.

“It does not have to change things,” Obi-Wan said, after a moment when they simply stared at one another. “Unless you are… uncomfortable. Around me. It would be your right. My inexcusable weakness—”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin protested, rubbing the back of his neck.

Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. “Shall we… put it behind us, then?”

Anakin blinked, shocked. How could Obi-Wan want to ignore what had happened? Could he not see how well they fitted together? Could he not—?

Anakin’s thoughts ground to a halt, then, as he looked at Obi-Wan in the pale light of the stars. There were dark circles under his eyes. Bruises on his skin, more than Anakin could see. He had been… inexperienced, before. Untouched. Lost in the grip of whatever that planet had done to them. As soon as he’d recovered, he had pulled away.

Horror and disgust rose in the back of Anakin’s throat as his thoughts hurtled along. Anakin had wanted what happened—or something very similar to it—since Geonosis. Obi-Wan had never said anything about wanting the same. In fact, he had seemed to seek out Cody, back on the planet. And Anakin had—had—

Well, not forced Obi-Wan. He’d, in fact, done everything Obi-Wan asked him to do, in the moment. But neither of them had been in their right minds, and if it had not been something Obi-Wan desired before….

Bitter frustration filled his thoughts. He did his best to keep them off of his face. Why couldn’t anything be easy? Still, at least Obi-Wan was not angry. Surely Anakin could use the situation and their new connection to his advantage. It could give him a chance, time to show Obi-Wan that _he_ was the right choice, that what had happened wasn’t a mistake. That it should happen again.

Over and over and over again.

So he ducked his head, curling his hands into fists behind his back in a bid for patience, and he said, “Yes. That sounds like the best idea.”

“Alright,” said Obi-Wan, and he sounded tired, beaten, lost, just for a moment.

Anakin shuddered. “I should go.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan called, as he reached the doorway. Anakin half-turned. “Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, staring at the wall beside Anakin’s shoulder, “for what you did.”

Anakin stared at him, his mind cluttered with plans for the future, with memories of the previous night, with desires he pushed down. “Any time,” he said and stepped through the door, walking hurriedly down the hall, Obi-Wan’s wide-eyed response tucked into his memory.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday!

By the time Obi-Wan and Anakin reached their original destination at the front, days later, things for Plo Koon had gone from bad to the edge of collapse. The influx of men and ships that they brought stemmed the Separatist tide, probably more due to surprise than anything else. They dropped planet-side in the middle of a horrific battle, the ground littered with bodies and broken droids for klicks in what appeared to be every direction.

There was no time for thought on the field of battle. No time for regret, or the creeping feeling of dread that had settled at the back of Obi-Wan’s throat since the experience on Circindia—further scouring of the records Secura had found had finally revealed the planet’s name. The battle demanded complete focus and every ounce of his energy, just to stay alive. Injuries accrued over the course of the day, bruises and blaster burns, mostly, and they overlaid the marks from the… experience on Circindia, until he could no longer identify fingerprints or the shape of Anakin’s teeth.

The sense memories were more difficult to smear away, especially because Anakin seemed determined to stick close to his side, instead of darting off through the battlefield on one of his usual mad attacks. There was a comfort in fighting beside him, long years of familiarity made it so. But Anakin kept changing the steps in their usual dance, disrupting that peace.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan snapped, on the second day of fighting, when Anakin pulled him back from an explosion of shrapnel and curled over to take the brunt of the flying rocks and metal. Obi-Wan lopped the head off of a battle droid blundering towards them, and demanded, “What are you doing?”

“Just watching your six.” Anakin flashed him a grin before jumping off, engaging another group of the enemy.

“My six is just fine,” Obi-Wan shot back, reaching out to deflect a smattering of blaster fire directed at Ahsoka and Rex, currently working together to set up explosives around the base of a piece of heavy artillery.

“I know,” Anakin grunted, facing off against a droideka. “Because I’ve been watching it.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and another wave broke across them, granting them no more time to talk about it, especially not when the artillery exploded a moment later.

He hoped, vaguely, that the strange concern on Anakin’s part would be a passing phase, perhaps generated by their… closeness, on Circindia. Anakin could have strange mood swings, no one denied that. It was usually best to simply ride them out. So he gritted his teeth and dealt with the sudden surge of over-protection. Anakin wasn’t endangering anyone else, so it wasn’t as though Obi-Wan could lodge a formal complaint.

They fought through the mud and into a city, mostly a bombed out husk, though remnants of architectural beauty remained. After three full day cycles of fighting they managed to find a nook to grab at least a few hours of sleep. Ahsoka dropped into dreams immediately, curled into a ball in the lee of a fallen wall. Obi-Wan looked down at her, bitter sadness filling his mouth, and shrugged off his cape, draping it over her form before sinking down beside her. She made a sleepy sound, and he scrubbed at his face.

Anakin cleared his throat, and Obi-Wan tilted his head back against the wall, blinking blearily at the cup of steaming tea Anakin offered out. “You look like you need this more than me,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan snorted, not sure that was true at all.

“Sit down,” he ordered, taking the cup and hissing at the heat and the sweetness when he took a swallow. “Take off that armor.” Anakin’s eyes seemed to darken—a trick of the light, Obi-Wan assured himself—and Obi-Wan clarified, “I need to see to your injuries.”

“Very well.” Anakin gave in with rare good grace, pulling aside layers. Obi-Wan hissed in displeasure at what was revealed. The explosion had been worse than he’d thought. A fair portion of Anakin’s back was littered with filth and metal, the wounds weeping blood, agitated by each movement. Obi-Wan sighed and, ignoring the flash of memories across the backs of his eyelids, placed one hand on Anakin’s ribs, pushing healing energy into his skin and reaching for the shrapnel.

“What were you thinking?” he chided, Anakin’s muscles jumping beneath his hands.

“I was thinking you were going to get hit full on by the blast,” Anakin grumbled back, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Most people would say thank-you.”

Obi-Wan frowned, releasing his frustration to the Force. “I can take care of myself, Anakin.”

Anakin looked over his shoulder, his shaggy hair falling around his face. He said nothing, but his expression said plenty.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and the bombing resumed, putting a pin in the argument.

#

It took them four days, planet-side, to meet up with Plo Koon’s forces, finally catching the Separatists troops in a vice of blaster fire and lightsabers. Plo Koon met them in the middle of the battlefield, afterwards, his arm in a sling that did nothing to stop him from catching Ahsoka when she leapt at him. “About time you got here,” he said, setting her carefully back on her feet.

“Sorry for the delay, Master, we arrived as quickly as we could,” Ahsoka said, frowning at his injuries. “Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing,” Plo Koon said, though it was obvious the limb was not folded properly, unless he’d somehow grown a few extra hinge joints since their last meeting. He looked over at Anakin. “The Council has been trying to reach you for nearly a day. We have a communications array set up over there.” He nodded off to one side. “Master Kenobi, perhaps you would… examine my arm, while we have a moment?”

Anakin hesitated, glancing at the communications gear and back at Obi-Wan. The clones were wiping up the last of the droids with little trouble. All of the remaining blaster fire was far away. But he felt… uneasy, nonetheless. He grabbed a passing trooper and pointed at the clustered Jedi. “You watch them,” he ordered, and felt slightly better when he stalked off to see which way the Council’s whims were blowing at the moment.

One of Plo Koon’s troopers nodded as Anakin approached, stepping away from a holo-projector and calling up the Council. Anakin cracked his neck from side to side as he waited, achy from battle and his healing wounds. He paced around the projector, finding a position where he could keep an eye on Ahsoka and Obi-Wan and relaxing, somewhat.

A moment later, tiny projections of the Council appeared in the air before him. “Knight Skywalker. Pleased to see you, we are,” Yoda said, and Anakin prepared to answer their questions about the battle on autopilot. They always wanted to know the same things. “Another mission for you, we have.” That wasn’t how the script was supposed to go. Anakin blinked in surprise. “Specially requested, you have been. Return to Coruscant at once, you must.”

Anakin almost protested. They had so much to do and they could never accomplish anything, not with the Council jerking them back and forth across the galaxy. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t just make up their minds about how they wanted to proceed. But Obi-Wan snorted a laugh from across the battlefield, amused by something Ahsoka said, and, well. Coruscant had its dangers. But they were nothing compared to the front lines. He nodded, tucking away his complaints. “Very well. Master Kenobi and I will be on our way immediately.”

“Master Kenobi will not be returning,” Master Windu said, flat. “We have word that another fleet is approaching your position, intent on maintaining a foothold in this sector of the Rim.”

Anakin stiffened, a sudden wave of uneasiness breaking through his mind as he scowled. “The Separatist fleet we already faced here was humongous. I don’t think splitting us up now is going to result in anything but more casualties. There was a reason you sent both of us here to begin with.”

The holographic representations of the Council looked weary, more so even than usual, weary and confused, making decisions about a war they barely even participated in. “Trust Master Kenobi to find a way to succeed, we do,” Master Yoda said, resting his chin on the head of his cane. “Ordered to return by the Chancellor himself, you have been.”

Anakin paced restlessly to the side. There was no reason for the Chancellor to request him for anything. But he was a kind man. Not prone to the foolishness of the Council. “Let me contact him,” he said. “If I explain—”

“Made, our decision has been,” Master Yoda interrupted, chiding. “Expect you to report to your assignment, we do.” A moment later they faded from view, and Anakin swore.

He stalked back over to the group, trying to find a way out of the orders. Obi-Wan watched him approach. He seemed recovered from their experience, though clothes could hide a multitude of bruises. “Everything alright?” Obi-Wan asked, smoothing a hand down Plo Koon’s arm. It looked mostly the right shape again.

“No,” Anakin scowled. “They’re sending me back to Coruscant. You’ve been ordered to remain here.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Very well.” And then, because sometimes Obi-Wan seemed to see right through him, he cocked his head to the side and asked, “Is there something else?”

Anakin cast him a glance and then looked away. “I should be with—” he bit the words back, far too unsure about the strange tension in his gut to risk speaking about it. “I’ll return as quickly as I can.” He wanted to step forward and—he wasn’t sure what else. Curl his hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and kiss his forehead? Pick him up and carry him along? Grab him and run the other direction? He shook the thoughts aside. “Come on, Snips,” he said.

They had no right to send him away, to tear him away from Obi-Wan’s side. It wasn’t right. He belonged here, it was his place, but fighting it would be useless, so Anakin stalked through the remains of the fallen droids, barking over his shoulder to Ahsoka, “Go find Rex. Tell him to prepare our men and find us some kind of transport.”

“Sure thing, Skyguy.” He didn’t see what she was so happy about. Then again, maybe the constant threat of death wasn’t all that appealing to most people.

Anakin watched her go with a shake of his head and then went to track down Cody, finding him organizing the clearance of droid bodies out of one of the main thoroughfares of the city. Cody stiffened as soon as Anakin stepped onto the main street and they stared at one another, all of the tension from Circindia bubbling right below the surface. They’d both hid it, tucked it away, in front of Obi-Wan and on the field of battle, but now Anakin saw no reason to do so.

“I’ve been called back to Coruscant,” Anakin bit out, scowling. Cody narrowed his eyes.

“Good for you, sir.”

Anakin snorted. _Good for you_ , he thought. “Obi-Wan is staying out here.” Cody said nothing, just stared at him, waiting. Anakin gritted his teeth. “I need to be sure nothing is going to happen to him.” He only realized how true it was when he said it. The thought of something happening to Obi-Wan dug at him, sitting heavy in the middle of his lungs. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, but he had never experienced it so fiercely before.

Cody drew his shoulders up and back. “He’s come through every battle with us alive, sir.”

“Keep it that way,” Anakin snapped, vaguely aware that his anger was a strange, deep thing. Unusual. He trusted Obi-Wan on the battlefield. Oh, he might endanger himself, risk life and limb, take on an entire army on his own if he thought it would save someone else, but he always managed to live through it. Still. A low thrum of anxiety hummed alongside the blood in Anakin’s veins. Obi-Wan was his. Leaving him alone felt like a betrayal. It had not a week ago.

“Anything else?”

Anakin stared at him and decided he didn’t need to insult Cody by spelling anything else out, about what would happen if Anakin came back and found his absence had been taken advantage of. “I think you know the rest,” he said.

One side of Cody’s mouth twitched.  “Best of luck, sir.”

#

They were simply being pulled in too many directions. There weren’t enough Jedi anymore. There hadn’t been when the war started, and their numbers had been thinned terribly since then. Even the seemingly inexhaustible numbers of the clones seemed to be failing, more often than not. So, Obi-Wan understood the reasons for Anakin to be recalled and placed on a new mission, but they did little to reduce his uneasy feelings about the situation. He should have been relieved.

Some space would do him good, allow him to meditate and sort out the mess of his thoughts. As it was, he felt off-balance, full of a sense that something was wrong. He had expected it to fade, as the days since Circindia added up. But it remained, down low in his gut and up his spine.

It worsened when he watched Anakin and Ahsoka climb into their transport, escaping the clutching fingers of the war, at least for the moment.

“Are you going to tell me what happened, there?” Plo Koon asked, as the ship broke atmo, rising up into the stars.

“He didn’t say what the mission was,” Obi-Wan answered, turning aside.

 “Hm.” Plo Koon gave him an odd look, one that he repeated over and over throughout the coming days, as the next wave of the Separatist fleet arrived and did everything possible to put them all in the ground.

Obi-Wan got used to ignoring the look. Perhaps too used to it, as he was unprepared when Plo Koon knelt beside him in the middle of a quiet moment nearly a week later and said, “Your troopers are very… concerned.”

“What?” Obi-Wan looked up from scarfing down a quick bite. He wasn’t even sure where the food had come from, they’d been cut off from supplies for the last few days, but Cody had appeared with it and insisted he take it. He’d been too hungry to protest.

“With your well-being,” Plo Koon continued, stretching his legs out with a little groan of discomfort.

Obi-Wan swallowed a mouthful of something that resembled bread. “We’ve been through a lot together,” he offered.

“And your Force signature is brighter,” Plo Koon said next, the change in topic catching Obi-Wan off-guard.

“Excuse me?”

Plo Koon nodded to himself, rubbing at a bruise on his ribs. “It is. I wasn’t sure at first, but there is no way to deny it, now.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, unsure what to say. An individual’s Force signature changed throughout their life. They were not set in stone. But there was usually some kind of cause. He could think of a few possible reasons for his to shift. Most of them he wouldn’t be sharing with anyone. He shrugged. “Perhaps a side effect of my visit to the Force Well on Circindia.”

“Perhaps,” Plo Koon said, not sounding as though he agreed.

Obi-Wan was terribly relieved when one of clones rushed up, reporting an urgent communication from the Council.

#

Anakin felt physically ill on the trip back to Coruscant. He spent most of the days of the passage in his quarters, pacing back and forth, irrationally angry and unable to properly release the emotion to the Force. It just kept returning, bringing with it a sense of deep anxiety that he could not reign in. Ahsoka stopped by often, concern radiating off of her, and Anakin turned her away, each time. She did not deserve to deal with him in his current temper.

He drew his lightsaber when he could no longer stand the pressure in his bones and went through endless katas, until his muscles felt like rubber and sweat ran down his skin. It did not help. The itch in the back of his skull, calling him back, back, _back_ , remained, only growing stronger the farther away he traveled.

He could barely think around it by the time they reached Coruscant, landing without issue.

A protocol droid intercepted them halfway down the ramp, bumbling up to them and interrupting Ahsoka’s excited chatter about where, exactly, they should go eat first. “Jedi Skywalker, I have been instructed to escort you to Chancellor Palpatine immediately.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes, already irritated. Ahsoka trailed off, frowning at the droid. “We haven’t even reported to the Council yet,” she said.

“Nevertheless,” said the droid. “I have been instructed to escort Jedi Skywalker to Chancellor Palpatine immediately.”

Anakin sighed. Perhaps this was truly important. Palpatine had never jerked him around before. He was surprised by how little he currently cared. He patted Ahsoka on the shoulder and nodded down the ramp. “Why don’t you go report to the Council for us? Get them updated. I’ll catch up when I can.”

She pulled a face, but nodded. “Comm if you need anything,” she said, casting a look over her shoulder as she left.

“Alright,” Anakin told the droid. “Lead on.”

The droid turned without a word, leading him to a sleek, expensive speeder, piloted by a different droid. Anakin sighed and climbed in, his thoughts on the other side of the galaxy. He should have tried to contact Obi-Wan again before leaving the ship—but none of the other transmissions had made it through and, Force, that was nearly unbearable. The trip to the Chancellor’s rooms passed in a blur. Anakin blinked in surprise when they landed and worked to control his still-rampant irritation. Of all the people in the universe, the Chancellor deserved his temper the least. He’d never been anything but kind.

The protocol droid led Anakin into the rooms, delivering him to Palpatine’s office. The Chancellor set behind his desk, mountains of work in front of him. He stood and smiled when he saw Anakin, nothing but fondness in his expression. “Anakin! Such a pleasure to see you again, my boy.”

Anakin sketched a smile, trying to be present in the moment. “I’m glad to find you well, Chancellor. I worried about you, when I was called to your side so abruptly.”

“Your concern is admirable,” the Chancellor said, folding his hands. “Won’t you sit?”

Anakin glanced at the chair and remained standing. He wanted to move. “Sir,” he said, “I was led to believe that the matter that brought me here was of some urgency.” If it turned out not to be, he was leaving immediately.

The Chancellor blinked, taken aback. Well, it was time that he got used to the rudeness everyone else said Anakin displayed. Palpatine collected himself after a moment, moving on smoothly. “Of course. I knew I could count on your dedication.” He shuffled something on his desk, and sighed. “I contacted you because I have heard that the Council discovered something, something with the potential to turn the tide of the war, but my requests for information have been… avoided. And I know that I can trust you to be honest with me, Anakin.”

Anakin blinked at him, the itch in the back of his head had become a headache. “That’s why you called me here?” He could not keep the entirety of his disbelief out of his voice.

The Chancellor looked at him with surprise in his kind eyes. “Of course not, dear boy. There are other issues that require your talents.” He sighed, sadly, and leaned back in his chair. “I have been given reason to believe that my life will be threatened during the upcoming negotiations with Mandalore.”

Anakin frowned, trying to push down the itch in his skull enough to concentrate. “Why are we negotiating with Mandalore?” He rephrased, at the look the Chancellor shot him. “I mean, I was under the impression that diplomatic relations were proceeding well, after Senator Amidala’s visit to the planet.”

The Chancellor sighed, nodding slowly. “Indeed, it seemed that way for a time. But politics are rarely so straight-forward. Still. The Duchess Satine has agreed to travel to Coruscant, so that we may sort things out in person, which is excellent news for the war effort. Unfortunately, the meeting seems to have drawn the ire of the Death Watch. I have received several death threats, and I believe you know how dangerous the group is. It seemed sensible to seek out someone who I knew I could trust, for protection in this delicate period.”

Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not want to disappoint the Chancellor. And he knew Palpatine was a very important man. No doubt the Death Watch found him an appealing target. But… “I’m not sure I’ll be able to offer you anything that your guards could not,” he said.

“Nonsense.” Palpatine beamed at him. “You sell yourself short.”

“And I appreciate your faith, sir, but I feel I’d better serve you if I was back on the front.”

The Chancellor blinked, his smile not quite frozen on his face. “Your loyalty to the war effort is admirable,” he said, finally, some of the warmth leeched from his tone. “But I assure you, you are most useful to me right where you are. Are you feeling quite alright?”

Anakin took a deep breath, releasing his frustration as best he could. The process was so much easier with Obi-Wan close by. “Just a headache,” he said.

“Hm.” Palpatine narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “Hopefully it will pass quickly. Now come, I will brief you on the threat.” The issue of the information the Council hadn’t seen fit to share shifted to the backburner, for the moment. Anakin chose not to remind Palpatine of his interest in the matter. For once, he was perfectly content with the Council sitting on information. He didn’t think Obi-Wan would appreciate anyone knowing what had happened on Circindia.

#

The Council’s message had not been panicked, but only because they were all Jedi. They had received information that the attacks currently being turned aside by Obi-Wan and Plo Koon were nothing but a distraction, designed to keep them from noticing the movements of another Separatist fleet halfway across the outer rim. The Separatists had already overrun a small, uninhabited moon there, and set to work on something. The Council’s intel ended there. Obi-Wan and the 212th were deployed immediately, leaving Plo Koon and his men to finish mopping up the current battlefield.

Obi-Wan slept for most of the flight, exhausted beyond even the normal tiredness he experienced after such a long battle. He drew the Force around him and sank partially into a healing trance, waking only to eat and go over plans for the next several day cycles.

Briefing the troopers felt… uncomfortable, an inappropriate reaction, to be sure. He did his best to release his unease to the Force, even when Cody leaned over him to gesture at the maps they’d received, asking questions about terrain and deployment. They did not touch, but it was a near thing. Obi-Wan forced himself to stay still, despite the prickling of uncomfortable memories. They had to work together. A few embarrassing actions, caused by Obi-Wan’s failure of control, could not be allowed to negatively impact their relationship. That would get someone killed on the battlefield.

“We’re not sure exactly what the Separatists are up to,” Obi-Wan explained, pointedly not thinking about Cody’s presence. “But they appear to be drilling through the moon’s crust. It is extremely volatile already, with near-constant volcanic activity, so they could be attempting to use it as some kind of power source.” Though what use they could find for a solitary geothermal plant behind enemy lines, Obi-Wan could not imagine. “In any case, Dooku’s presence has been reported on the moon. His capture will be one of our top priorities.”

The rest of the meeting was simple strategy, the crafting of plans that Obi-Wan knew wouldn’t hold up on the battlefield. They never did. Once the blaster bolts were flying something always went wrong, and then there was nothing for it but to fight as hard as you could, with anything you had available. He sighed, exhausted all over again at the thought, as the troopers filed out of the room to deliver orders unto their squads.

He found Cody lingering outside of the door when he exited, talking to another trooper, and nodded to them both.

He went to meditate again, trying to get rid of the feeling of off-ness that had settled deep in his bones.

#

The Council proved less than helpful, when Anakin finally managed to extricate himself from the Chancellor’s offices. He found Yoda in his quarters, and the old master seemed pleased enough to see him, but frowned once Anakin got into the reason for his visit. “An honor to be asked for, it is,” Yoda said, after Anakin explained that, really, he needed to go back to the front immediately.

The joints of Anakin’s mechanical hand creaked. “I’m sure it is, Master. Perhaps an honor that should be awarded to someone more deserving.”

Yoda blinked at him slowly. “Due for a rest from the frontlines, you are.”

Anakin ground his back teeth together. Why did no one ever listen to him? “Master Kenobi has been out there longer than I have.” He wished Master Yoda would not stare at him so placidly.

“Requested for this, Master Kenobi was not.”

“Maybe he should have been. I mean, the Chancellor is trying to deal with Mandalore. Obi-Wan has… diplomatic ties, with them.” That particular fact scratched at Anakin’s already frayed nerves. The Duchess Satine was a beautiful and powerful alpha. He knew Obi-Wan cared for her deeply. He’d rather they not run into one another again, in all honestly. But there were no good options in the present situation and he’d rather have Obi-Wan close by than on the other side of the galaxy, even if it meant a little more competition for his attention.

“Mentioned, that fact was,” Master Yoda said, his eyelids drooping though his attention remained just as intent. “The decision of the Council, this was not.”

Anakin scowled. He’d never been very good at talking people around to his point of view, Obi-Wan handled that, and his patience was quickly scrapping thin. “But you can override it. I’m useless here, Master. Send me back to the front.”

For a moment, he thought Yoda might concede, but then the old master sighed and shook his head. “Remain, you must. Afford to go against the Chancellor in this matter, we cannot.”

The rest of their audience was a cool thing, and Anakin left the temple in a foul temper, still unable to contact Obi-Wan. He’d been redeployed, according to a curt message from Cody, received in the small hours of the morning. They’d sent him off to some Force forsaken moon where the Separatists were already dug in, and Anakin should have been there, leading the charge, not stuck pulling on clean robes to go make nice with a bunch of diplomats.

He went back to do his duty, plagued by the buzz in the back of his head. The Chancellor smiled at his return, and Anakin barely managed to return the expression.

The group from Mandalore landed only shortly after Anakin arrived, and for a moment Anakin thought about vaulting over their heads, ducking into their ship, and taking off. It looked fast. But then Duchess Satine strolled down the ramp, resplendent in blues and silvers, and he fixed a smile on his face. Maybe he could… help things along, if there was no other way out of this ridiculous assignment. He’d find out what she wanted and get the Senate to agree to it, somehow. It couldn’t be that hard. Politicians did it all the time.

He bowed to Satine when she reached them, and she tilted her head, her nostrils flaring just slightly as she scented him. Her expression tightened momentarily, something flat crossing her eyes before she tucked it away. “Jedi Skywalker,” she said, “a pleasure to see you once more. Master Kenobi is with you, as well?”

“I’m afraid not, Duchess,” Anakin said, confused as to why she would think so.

A tiny furrow appeared between her brows, quickly wiped away. “I see.”

And then the Chancellor stepped in, offering the Duchess his arm, already talking the confusing language of politics.

Anakin trailed behind them as they returned to the Senate.

He felt no danger in the air around them, but the unease in his gut refused to fade.

#

Yoda sought peace in mediation after young Skywalker left his quarters and found none. The Force pulled at his thoughts, instead, whispers of the future echoing in his ears. He sighed, eventually, and contacted the group sent to research on Circindia.

Master Unduli answered promptly, her calm visage a welcome sight. “Master Yoda,” she said, inclining her head. “We did not expect to hear from you again so quickly.”

“Mm. Full of surprises, I am.” He squinted at her holographic form. She appeared untroubled. Kenobi had been… concerned, when the Council decided to send a Jedi to investigate the ruins, insisting that no omegas be sent. He had not said why and Yoda could not stop puzzling over it. They had heeded the caution, in any case. Anything that managed to make Kenobi nervous was a cause for concern not to be taken lightly.

Master Unduli smiled softly. “Indeed. How may I assist you?”

“Any problems on the planet, have you had?”

“No, Master. Though…” She looked to the side, pressing her lips together for a moment. “The clones do appear to be slightly more… aggressive than I am used to. And I have noticed the same behavior in my Padawan.”

Yoda mused on that for a moment. There was an answer there, for Skywalker’s strange behavior, he was sure of it. But from such a far remove, he could not be sure what had caused it, or if what they had found was responsible for the current turbulence in the Force. “And touched the Well, you have not?”

“Of course not. After Master Kenobi’s reports, we are staying away from it, until we can determine how it works.”

“Good, good. Excellent work, you have done.”

Yoda ended the communication a few minutes later, no more at ease than he had been before.

#

The meetings lasted for nearly the entirety of the day, leaving Anakin to stand around while a bunch of Senators discussed how best to handle the crisis with Mandalore and the Death Watch. Anakin could think of a couple of solutions, but they all included far more bloodshed than he thought the Duchess was willing to stomach.

The only decent part of the day was the chance to see Padme again. They rarely had the chance to speak face-to-face, but she smiled at him when she entered the chambers, and sought him out once the meetings finally adjourned. “Anakin! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect to be here,” he grumbled, too aware of all the other eyes in the room.

She must have picked up in his unease, because she shot him a sharp look. “Sounds like you’ve got a story. Won’t you join me for dinner? You can tell me all about it.”

Anakin looked at the Chancellor. He was safely ensconced by his personal guard, and, according to his instructions, Anakin was supposed to provide him with protection during his diplomatic duties. Those appeared to be over for the day. “That sounds great,” he said.

Padme’s apartments were beautiful, perhaps even better appointed than they’d been last time Anakin visited. She still had his old protocol droid bustling around, and the sweet old thing managed to deliver a wonderful meal within minutes of their arrival. Anakin picked at the food until Padme leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Alright, Skywalker,” she said. “Spill it.”

So he did. And she listened to his frustrations with being called away from the front, her dark eyes soft and fond, saying nothing until he finally deflated with, “It’s just so frustrating, Padme! I’m not a bodyguard.”

She smiled at him over her glass of wine. “I remember you being a supremely excellent bodyguard.”

He huffed a laugh, not able to truly smile around the anxious knot in his throat. “You know what I mean. I’m a soldier. I belong out on the front, not here.”

Her expression grew serious. “Have you told the Council about this?”

Anakin stood, scoffing. “They don’t care. They probably think this is teaching me patience.”

“Surely they’re too wise to think that,” she mused and grinned when he shot her a look. She sat her cup down, then, and stood to join him, her presence calm and soothing. “Are you going to tell me what you did, Anakin?”

He stiffened. “What?”

She stared out over the city, her expression perfectly still and unreadable. “I’m not a fool and I face better liars than you every day. Something happened out there. With Obi-Wan. Something you’re not telling me. Something important. What was it?”

He glanced down at her and Force, but he wanted to tell her. She’d understand, wouldn’t she? She already knew he was a poor excuse for a Jedi, prone to attachment, too angry... And she understand the value of love, love in the face of whatever the world could throw at you. She wasn’t so closed minded as the kriffing Council….

“Why do you think it has anything to do with Obi-Wan?”

She scoffed then, but fondly. “You look like you’re going to go steal a ship every time someone mentions him, Anakin. Yes.” She pointed at his face. “Just like that.”

He scowled, bracing his hands on the balcony. Below them traffic wound in its endless patterns. “And what if something did happen?”

She leaned over, resting her elbows on the balcony, following his gaze. “Well,” she said, “I guess that would depend on what it was.”

They stood, and Anakin ground his teeth together. He wanted to tell someone, to release some of this terrible pressure. And maybe she would have advice.

“His suppressants failed,” he said, finally, and heard her sharp intake of breath. It was a phrase no omega liked to hear. “We were trapped on a planet—there was no way to get off. And there were a dozen troopers with us. They’re all alphas, Padme. And….” He spun away from the balcony, the better to pace.

“You were… intimate.” He could hear how carefully she picked out the word. Images of that night flashed across his mind and he forced down a rising flush. He jerked out a nod. “Because you had to be?”

He held his breath. “Because I wanted to be,” he admitted. He’d always been able to admit things to her.

The words hung between them. She stared at him, her dark eyes so deep and her expression so controlled that he could not read it. “And Obi-Wan?” she asked. “He wanted it, too?”

“He did.” Anakin took a breath. That had been abundantly clear. Force, the memories of the way he’d begged sometimes turned Anakin’s dreams into burning things. “At the time.”

“I see.”

The words were not cold, but they begged for him to offer more confessions, they all but sucked explanations from his throat. “And I think he still would, if he would just—think about it. He’s—it felt so right, Padme. Being with him. He’s good for me and I’m good for him, and if I can just make him see…”

He trailed off, out of words. She cocked her head. “You’re in love with him.”

He thought about protesting, but something about her expression told him it would be useless. He scowled, instead. “Jedi are allowed to love. We’re just not allowed attachments, remember?”

She arched one brow. “Do you honestly believe you _aren’t_ attached to him?”

He stared at her, then, too aware of the itch at the back of his head, the one that reminded him at every moment that he should be across the galaxy, that he had abandoned a position he was supposed to hold. Her expression softened, then, into something kind and almost pitying. “Oh, Anakin,” she said and stepped away from the balcony, pulling him into an embrace.

They did not speak again, not even when she extricated herself and disappeared into her bed chamber. He stood on the balcony afterwards, staring up at where the stars would be, if the light pollution did not hide them, and thinking about attachments.

#

How many planets and moons had Obi-Wan landed on, with war in his blood and soldiers at his back? He no longer remembered. They all blended together into one long nightmarish smear. The experiences of this moon would no doubt join the rest, adding new horrors to the nightmares he tried to release to the Force. They made landfall with minimal fuss, a small group of them sneaking past the Separatist ships patrolling the moon in a tiny craft—their cruisers they kept in reserve, the mighty ships ready to jump in-system should they be required for a distraction or an evac.

The atmosphere on the moon was thin, thin enough to require environmental suits. The air inside of the masks tasted stale and faintly metallic. They were awkward to move in, and Obi-Wan scowled, trying fruitlessly to limber up as they settled on the moon, scrambling out of the drop-shuttle as quickly as possible.

They avoided the initial droid patrols, making it all the way to the great drilling complex before they were drawn into a brief fight with a group of wandering troops.

The complex was huge, but obviously set up quickly. It looked slapped together, the massive metal legs sunk crookedly into the moon’s surface. The drill made a hellacious sound, digging down through rock and magma. The heat it put off was immense. Obi-Wan still had no idea what it did, but it felt evil, even so.

He shook the thoughts away, leading the charge to destroy the thing. And for a while, it looked as though it was going to be simple enough. They made it into the complex. They set explosives—more than they should have, probably—they started to evac. Things would have been fine, most likely. If not for the moonquake.

#

The attack came on the third day of meetings, during an intermission.

Anakin’s headache had become a low, constant presence by that point, beating at his temples and distracting him. He could not have recalled a single point that had been discussed during all of the endless meetings, which made him dread the Chancellor’s smile and beckoning hand. Hopefully he would not wish to know Anakin’s thoughts about anything they’d talked about.

Anakin sighed, moving away from his spot along the wall, and Duchess Satine stepped in front of him, her face a regal mask. She managed to look down her nose at him, despite their height difference, a feat that impressed him. “Jedi Skywalker, could I have a word?”

He smiled, stiffly. He never knew exactly how to treat her. He felt like they had a longer history together than they actually did, connected as they were by Obi-Wan. And her belief in pacifism made no sense based on what he had seen of the universe. “Of course, Duchess. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“I’m sure,” she said, and turned, walking towards the meeting room’s balcony. Anakin followed, after a second, when he realized she expected him to. Over at the table, he saw Padme cover her smile with one small hand. The Chancellor frowned at them, and Anakin shrugged. Surely, promoting diplomatic relations was the right choice in the situation. The Duchess held her tongue until they stepped onto the balcony and reached a semblance of privacy. Then she said, staring out over the cityscape, “I wished to speak with you about Master Kenobi.”

Anakin stiffened. “Obi-Wan? What about him?”

She sighed. “You may think me foolish for it.”

That pricked up Anakin’s curiosity. “I doubt I could ever find you foolish, my lady.”

One side of her mouth quirked up, but only briefly. “Very well. I wondered if you had heard from him, lately? I have… an ill feeling, and…”

She said more, but Anakin’s attention was drawn away by a faint sound on the edge of his hearing. It was a quiet whirring noise, speeding up as Anakin listened. He took a step away from the Duchess, his head cocked to the side. It seemed to be coming from the meeting table…

Padme noticed his attention and stood. She asked, “Anakin?”

And the whine rose in pitch, terribly. A bomb. It had to be. Anakin swore, shoving the table back with the Force, moving it away from all of the gathered Senators. It smashed into a wall, kept going and, a second later, exploded.

Screams filled the room. Senators scrambled over one another to get further away from the explosion as the floor shook, but no one had been hurt. Anakin stepped forward, scanning for other threats, and that was when the shooting started.

The first shot nearly took out the Duchess. It would have, had not Anakin been standing so close to her. He grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the line of fire, shoving her behind a giant monolith that Padme had assured him was art. The next shots penetrated further into the room and Anakin leapt in front of them, his lightsaber slicing through the air with a faint hum.

Senators screamed as shots deflected around the room, as though Anakin would be sloppy enough to hit one of them. They were boring, but that didn’t mean he was ready to kill them. One of the idiots, scrambling for cover, knocked Padme to the floor and Anakin moved to cover her, only for Satine to dart across the room, grab her, and all but carry her down one of the hallways. She had a good turn of speed, especially in a headdress that had to weigh fifteen pounds.

Two shots, better aimed, nearly hit Satine in the back. Anakin scowled, reaching out to sense the shooter. They were hiding in the traffic, hovering in a busy lane, causing what was likely to be an atrocious accident. The blaster bolts would not deflect back far enough to hit them. But Anakin could feel their speeder. He touched it.

Engines were easy things to break.

He watched the speeder plummet, hit a larger ship in the next lane down, and break apart into fire and shattered metal.

He breathed out and thumbed off his lightsaber.

“Well,” he said, turning to grin at the senators, “did everyone have a good break?”

“I think,” the Chancellor sniffed, straightening his robes as his guards swarmed around him, “that we will conclude the proceedings there, for the day.”

Anakin shuddered in relief and went to find Padme and Satine, locating them in a little nook down the hall as Satine check Padme hurriedly for injuries. He paused, eyebrows climbing in surprise, and decided that, perhaps, he would just swing by and talk to Padme later. She seemed busy. He grinned.

#

The shaking came from nowhere, accompanied by eruptions of lava. One leg of the complex collapsed immediately, long before their explosives would have detonated, toppling it towards the lava fields below. It was a long way to fall. Obi-Wan reached out to the six troopers around him, holding them with the Force so they were not dashed against the walls and ceilings.

Someone swore, loudly, as the complex settled on its side. Alarms screamed from everywhere. The droids they’d managed to evade on their way in would be ready for them now. Obi-Wan pushed aside all that anxiety, focusing on the present moment and flicking his saber on. They would cut their way out, they still had time—

One of the explosives went off, then. Early. Perhaps the collapse had damaged it. The wall at his back blew, the explosive tearing through the bulkhead and throwing them all. Obi-Wan hit something, hard, and crumpled, his ears ringing as smoke filled up the tortured hall. “Go!” he wheezed, curling an arm around his ribs and feeling things move that ought not. “Move! Now!” The metal beneath him had grown terribly hot, even through his suit.

He pushed up, trying to stand, and Cody grabbed his arm on the way past without slowing, hauling him to his feet and dragging him along.

Another explosion shook the complex, blowing them into the wall, Cody’s weight crunching against his side. Obi-Wan bit back a cry, blinking sweat out of his eyes to find an inferno blocking the way forward.

Cody swore, yanking Obi-Wan’s arm across his shoulder and turning them.

And that was when the droids found them.

Blaster fire ricocheted around the passage. Obi-Wan shoved down the pain, pushed Cody to the side, and drew his saber, putting himself in the path of the bolts and deflecting them. “Make us an exit, Commander!” he ordered, ignoring the hot agony in his ribs.

“You heard the General!” Cody barked, and a moment later he swore again, low and with feeling.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan demanded, too busy with the droids to risk a glance away. There were so many of them, and more flooded in by the moment, replenishing their numbers no matter how many of them he cut down with deflected bolts.

“Lava,” Cody yelled back, grim. “Lots and lots of lava, sir.”

Obi-Wan did risk a glance then, driven back a step by the oncoming droids. Cody was right. What remained of the complex hung over a vast field of lava, with no safe place to stand for a hundred feet in any direction. The way forward was blocked by white fire. The way back was clogged with droids. Obi-Wan panted, looking at the six troopers, his men, protected for now by his saber, and smiled grimly.

“Hold onto your blasters,” he advised, and pushed his lightsaber into Cody’s hands shoving the onrushing droids back with a wall of the Force, buying them a moment. And then he turned, lifting two troopers with the Force and flinging them out of the make-shift exit, aiming for the distant safe ground.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Cody demanded. Obi-Wan grabbed two more troopers as the droids recovered. A blaster bolt caught him in the shoulder. He threw them.

Two troopers left. “Give it to Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, distracted.

“General!” Cody yelled, trying to grab hold as Obi-Wan lifted him. “Don’t!”

A bolt hit Obi-Wan’s hip, knocking his leg out from beneath him.

Obi-Wan shoved the last of the troopers to safety and collapsed.

And then the droids were upon him. And he reached out through the Force, blindly, instinctively, knowing what had to come next—

#

Anakin jerked awake, a scream in his throat, covered in sweat. He lurched out of bed, panting, panic thick in his chest. He’d felt… he didn’t know what he’d felt. Terrible pain and heat. A desperate call for assistance. Warmth and overwhelming fondness. It felt terribly familiar. It felt like a kiss goodbye.

He stormed from his quarters without thought, barefoot and bare-chested, halfway down the hall before his thoughts caught up with the rest of him. R2 sped out after him, whistling alarmed questions.

“Something happened to Obi-Wan,” Anakin bit out, unsure how he knew, but solid in that knowledge.

R2 whistled back.

“I don’t care if there are no reports,” Anakin snapped. “Where was he? Can you access the mission information?”

R2 chirped and rolled to a stop, plugging into a port in the wall. Anakin clenched his hands into fists and paced behind the little droid. Staying still hurt. The ache in the back of his skull had become a pounding throb, uneven and ragged. R2 chirped again after a moment. “What do you mean it’s encrypted? Un-encrypt it.” This was taking too long. Anakin had to do something. “Keep working on it,” he ordered, spinning on his heel and heading back through the Temple.

He ended up in front of Master Yoda’s quarters, banging on the door.

Yoda answered with surprising speed, blinking up at Anakin calmly. Anakin stepped past him and demanded, “Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“In my quarters, he is not,” Yoda said, mildly. “Three in the morning, it is.”

Anakin paced the little room, too full of terrible energy to still his movements. “Something happened. Something terrible. I need to know where he was.”

Yoda leaned against his cane, tracking Anakin with only his eyes. “Know this, how do you?”

They were wasting time. Anakin clenched his jaw, his mind clawing down dark paths for how he might get the information more quickly. He pushed them aside. It took effort. “I felt it through the Force,” he said, true enough. “Please, Master Yoda, I need you to tell me where to find him.”

Yoda stared at him, his head tilted to the side. And then he walked slowly over to the comm beside his door and thumbed it on, exchanging brief pleasantries with whoever was on the other side before he asked, “Any word from Master Kenobi, have we had?”

There was a second of hesitation. And Anakin wanted to cry out once more, the pulse in the back of his skull tripping and fluttering. “We just received a report,” the other voice said, finally. “His mission was a success. Unfortunately, Master Kenobi did not make it out.”

“My thanks, you have,” Yoda said, and disconnected the transmission. He stared at the wall, tapping his fingers on the cane.

“Where did you send him?” Anakin demanded, his voice some raw, unfamiliar thing.

And Yoda glanced up, eyes narrowed. “With the knowledge, what will you do?”

Anakin scowled. “I’ll go get him.” Wasn’t that obvious?

Yoda sighed. He looked tired, suddenly. He shook his head. Fine. Anakin would find out on his own. He stormed towards the door, and Yoda held a hand up at the last moment. “Wait,” he said. And then he reached out and picked up a data pad, handing it across to Anakin. “The information you need, this contains.”

Anakin took it with desperate hands. He bit out, “Thank you. Tell the Chancellor he’ll have to find a different bodyguard.”

#

Obi-Wan woke up, a surprise.

He cracked his eyes open, fighting against a tremendous headache, trying to figure out what had happened. It was not as hot as it had been, on the cursed moon. The air tasted recycled and like grease. He could feel the vibration of massive engines, right through the wall he was chained to. He heard the click and clank of droid limbs. He was on a Separatist ship, then, alone in a tiny cell.

They’d chained up his hands, so high that his toes dangled off of the floor and his shoulders burned with agony. Breathing was hard, both from the position and the ribs that felt very clearly broken. They’d removed his environmental suit, leaving him in his tunic and pants.

He grunted and pulled his legs up, bracing his feet on the wall and pushing up enough to relieve some of the pressure on his shoulders. He tugged on the chains around his wrist and received a sharp shock for his trouble, gritting his teeth through it.

Well.

He’d been in worse situations. And at least, if he was remembering things clearly, they’d completed the mission and the rest of the squad had escaped. He’d mark that into the win column.

He pulled on the Force, drawing it into his skin, feeding the energy into the wounds littered across his body, concentrating on all the damage. He sunk into the tedious work of repairing injured muscle and bone, only rising from his half-trance when he sensed another Force presence, close by and moving closer. He knew it, very well. It was just his luck that he’d ended up in Count Dooku’s tender care. That meant that he’d no doubt be subjected to long speeches about how he should join the Separatists in between sessions where they tortured him for information. Joy.

Count Dooku stepped into the cell a few moments later, armed with his traditional scowl. Obi-Wan flashed him a smirk, drawing on reserves already running dry. “Count Dooku! What an unexpected visit. Come in. I’m afraid I can’t offer you any refreshments.”

Dooku narrowed his eyes and absently waved the door closed. He strolled forward, until he stood in front of Obi-Wan. He looked Obi-Wan up and down, opened his mouth, and then his expression twisted with surprise. Obi-Wan shifted. This was not going as he’d expected. He asked, “Sarlacc got your tongue?”

Dooku took another step closer, his nostrils flaring. He glared at Obi-Wan’s gut as though it had personally offended him, and then looked up, and growled, “You are… with child.”

Obi-Wan blinked and then he laughed, honestly unsure what this strange gambit was supposed to accomplish. “What? Of course not, don’t—”

Dooku growled, “Do not attempt to lie to me, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, prepared to argue that he would surely know, and something cold and terrible filled his chest and gut. He felt his expression freeze and could not stop it. Force. Force, no. Surely that could not have—

But it could have. He had just expended so much energy thoroughly blocking the memories of that night that he had missed an obvious… possible result. He felt ill, and swallowed back at the nausea in his throat, latching onto the Force to keep from gasping.

In front of him, Count Dooku smiled, crooked and cold and terrible. “Well, well, well,” he said. “What a delicious surprise.”

#

They left Coruscant within the hour, the 501st flowing into the hanger from wherever they’d gone to relax, pulling on armor and blasters as they arrived. Anakin stalked around the ship, ready to leave immediately, waylaid, eventually, by Ahsoka. She carried an armful of his clothes and arched an eyebrow at him.

“R2 told me what happened,” she said, as he took the tunic and shrugged into it. “I’m sure Master Obi-Wan is fine.”

“No, he’s in trouble,” Anakin bit out, shoving his feet into boots. He should have been there. If the Council hadn’t pulled him across the galaxy for no reason, this would not have happened. It was their job to make sure the Jedi weren’t misused. They should have refused the Chancellor’s request, instead of giving in to it—he was a kind man, but obviously a bit foolish.

Ahsoka watched him pace, her expression unreadable. She crossed her arms and leaned against the bulkhead. “You know what R2 couldn’t tell me?” He grunted. “What happened on that mission I had to sit out while I was recovering.” Anakin stiffened. “He said he was trapped back at the ship the whole time and that you guys were gone for days.”

“It was just a mission,” Anakin said. “Maul showed up. Things went bad. We handled it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of bad?” she asked.

“The standard kind,” he barked, dragging a hand back through his hair. “Leave it, Ahsoka.”

She stared at the ground for a moment and then looked up. “I’m not a kid anymore, you know,” she said, and Anakin scoffed.

“Yes, you are.”

She scowled at him and took a step forward as the ship’s engines finally, finally whined to life. “I know something happened,” she said. “I know it was something bad. The 212th was all upset about it when we left them.” Anakin had not noticed, but he took Ahsoka’s word for it. He’d been distracted. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

Anakin stared at her for a moment. She’d seen terrible things, in the course of the war. She’d seen all the ways people could die, slow and fast. He knew she was no child, not really. The war had stolen that away from her, just as slavery had stolen it from Anakin. But she was his Padawan, and he’d always wanted to protect her. He still did. She didn’t need to worry about what had happened in front of the Force Well—or about that situation ever happening again. He could barely stand to think about it, knowing that, half the time, she was alone, surrounded by troopers who would be drawn to her….

He shook the horrible thoughts away. “It’s not important,” he said, rough. “I’d tell you if it was, Snips, you know that.”

She pursed her lips as he turned away, heading up to the bridge to see if there had been a reply from the 212th, yet.

He was going to tear those useless excuses for soldiers apart.

#

“Whose child is it?” Dooku asked, the question he’d grown most fond of using to start their little… interactions. Obi-Wan sunk into the Force, drawing what strength he could from it. He was no longer sure how many times they’d repeated this painful display. Dooku didn’t allow him to sleep and all the pain, all the questions, they were blending together.

He turned his head and spat; his mouth tasted of blood. “I’ve no idea,” he said, because he would be damned if he dragged Anakin into this, if he gave some bloody Sith information to use against him. “There are just so many troopers in my battalion. Who could possibly keep track?”

Dooku sighed and pressed the flat of his lightsaber against Obi-Wan’s back, not hard enough to slice, just enough to burn. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth against a cry, sweat dripping from his forehead to the floor.

“You lie well,” Dooku snarled, pacing around him. “For a Jedi.”

“High praise, coming from you.”

Dooku huffed a breath. “What did you find on Circindia?”

“Never been there.” Obi-Wan braced for the searing press of pain. It hurt anyway. He passed the agony into the Force.

“They will not come for you, you know,” Dooku said, strolling in a slow circle around his bound form. “They think you’re dead. There will be no end to this, until you tell me what I want to know.”

He sounded so honest, almost pitying. Obi-Wan shut his eyes and sunk deeper into the Force. Perhaps no one would come for him. Perhaps it would be better that way. But there was no reason to allow Dooku to think he believed that. His mouth twisted into a grin. “You lie poorly,” he spat. “For a Sith.”

#

They rendezvoused with the 212th days later, in orbit around a space station known for harboring bounty hunters and slavers. Anakin boarded the _Negotiator_ in a black mood, the time spent traveling having done little to ease his fury and tension.

He found Cody on the bridge, waiting for him. Anakin drew to a stop in the doorway, his saber in his hand but unignited, the buzzing in the back of his head a terrible pressure. “You told me,” Anakin said, stepping into the room and closing the door. “That you’d look after him.”

Cody looked at him, arms crossed and scarred brow raised. “I did,” he said, his voice flat and hard. “And I failed.”

The admission undercut Anakin’s anger. He curled a hand into a fist and pressed it against the nearest wall, needing the pressure against his knuckles. “What happened?” he bit out. He had yet to get a straight answer from anyone.

 Cody’s mouth twisted unhappily. “Mission went bad. We got boxed in. He saved us.” Cody paused then, and unclipped Obi-Wan’s lightsaber from his belt, holding it out to Anakin. “He told me to give you this.”

Anakin took it, numb. He could feel the upset coming off of Cody. And he should have been upset—he’d had one job, and he’d blown it in every conceivable way. But it wasn’t all his fault. Anakin should have been there, and he had, instead, been sipping wine on Coruscant. This was his failure, too. And the Council’s. There was plenty of blame to spread around.

“Where is he now?”

Cody gestured to the screens around them. “Honestly, sir, we don’t know. Count Dooku was on the moon. And we know his ship left shortly after the mission went KUBAR. But we haven’t been able to track him. We hoped to turn up something here—Dooku was seen on the station not long ago—but…” He trailed off, blowing out an angry breath through his nose.

Anakin nodded. “Well. Let’s go ask around again. Just you and me.”

Cody stared for a moment, and then nodded, a hard smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

They blew through the station, leaving a trail of scampering trash in their wake, and finding no answers at all.

At one point, Anakin swore he felt a familiar Force signature—but it was not Obi-Wan, and therefore not important. Besides, it disappeared quickly, so quickly he doubted it had even ever existed, afterwards.

#

Asajj Ventress had learned the hard way that purpose was a hard thing to come by.

Her life had been guided by one over-riding ideology or another, for as long as she could remember. There had been the Jedi, the Sith, the Nightsisters....

All of those paths were shut to her now, and she had been cast out into the universe with only her own thoughts and desires to guide her steps. It had been a difficult adjustment, one that she had not yet completed. She found work as a bounty hunter, because it played to her skills and it took her to such interesting, filthy, disgusting places.

Like her current location, aboard a stinking space station in the Outer Rim. She’d tracked the man she hunted to the lower levels and found the bolt-hole where he’d hidden away from the trial waiting for him back in the Core. Once he fell asleep, she would take him. Not because she feared facing him while he was awake, but because there was something unique about the fear people felt when everything went terribly wrong when they first awoke.

She whiled away the time in a nearby alley, absently monitoring the surrounding area and straightening in surprise when she sensed a powerful, and familiar, Force presence. Skywalker. She scowled, fading deeper into the shadows and cloaking her signature. If he and Kenobi had come looking for a fight, she’d—

She frowned. She detected no sign of Kenobi. And Skywalker felt…. Agitated, beyond even his normal level of low-grade anger with the universe and everything in it. He was accompanied by one of those interchangeable soldiers the Jedi were so fond of. Ventress watched them stroll by and, after checking to ensure her prey was still cowering in nameless fear, she stepped out of the alley to follow them.

They visited a bar—a room filled with hazy purple smoke and the stink of unwashed flesh and rotten alcohol. Ventress moved around the edges of the room, keeping a crowd between them and listening in as the pair asked, for a given definition of asking, about the current location of her old master. She gathered, through careful eavesdropping, that Skywalker had lost something he considered his.

It wasn’t hard to put the pieces to that particular puzzle together.

They left a crowd of brutes bleeding on the ground, with none of the information they came for. Ventress picked up an abandoned mug of some foul liquor, drained it, and grinned a private little grin.

After all, she kept close tabs on the location of Dooku, just in case he ever decided to come for her.

And this sounded far more interesting than dragging some coward back to trial for a pittance. She was willing to bet she could get plenty of credits from Skywalker for returning his precious master.

#

Anakin and Commander Cody returned to the _Negotiator_ empty handed, arriving back on the bridge snapping at one another. Ahsoka watched them, her arms crossed around the tension in her chest. She’d never seen her master so anxious—and they had been in terrible situations so many times. She bit her bottom lip, his worry increasing her levels of concern, even after he stopped arguing and just stood, staring at nothing. She gathered her courage and approached, after a moment, hazarding, “Master…”

“Circindia,” he said, his head snapping up. “There are still troopers there, right? And a Jedi?”

One of the troopers typed in something and nodded. “That’s correct, sir. Master Unduli is on the planet, with her apprentice.”

“Contact them,” Anakin ordered, suddenly pacing once more.

Ahsoka tracked his movement and asked, “What’s going on?”

“There’s—we found something on the planet. A tool. A Force Well. Obi-Wan touched it and said that he saw images of different people from all around the galaxy.”

“You think they might be able to see where Master Obi-Wan is?”

He jerked out a quick nod. “I think it’s worth a shot.”

A moment later, Master Unduli appeared on screen, listening to Anakin’s suggestion with a regretful expression. Ahsoka knew she would refuse, even before she shook her head and said, “I am sorry, but we are not permitted to use the Force Pool. May the Force guide your search for Master Kenobi.”

Anakin’s anger filled the room like a living thing, and Ahsoka pulled at it, tugging it away into the Force even as she shuddered. He got _so angry_ sometimes. Though, she had to admit, it was usually with good reason. Surely Master Obi-Wan’s safety was more important than maintaining complete caution. Surely one peak into the Force Pool couldn’t hurt. Obviously it had not done too much harm to Obi-Wan.

Ahsoka frowned at the direction of the holo-projector, a plan rising in her mind. They’d said Master Unduli’s Padawan on Circindia, as well….

“Master,” she said, before Anakin could storm out of the room, “I think maybe you should let me try.”

Barriss smiled her small smile, when she appeared on the holo-projector, and listened carefully to Ahsoka’s request. For a moment, she seemed conflicted, and Ahsoka added, “Please, Barriss. Just take a quick look.”

Barriss nodded, then. Finally. “Alright,” she said. “For you. I will contact you again afterwards.”

#

The waiting scratched at Anakin’s nerves. There was just not enough room on the bridge to pace. He wanted to tear out his hair, to fight something, to rip something to pieces with the Force. He jumped when they finally received a transmission from Circindia, and then curled his hands into fists when he saw Barriss’s expression.

“I am sorry,” she said, grim and quiet. “I _did_ see him. He is in a metal room, in chains.” She shuddered, then, squeezing her eyes closed. “They are hurting him. But that is all I could see. There was nothing to indicate his location.”

“Thank you for trying, Barriss,” Ahsoka murmured, but Anakin barely heard her, stalking out of the room and finding his way to Obi-Wan’s quarters in a daze. He let himself in and paced around the small space. He stared at the empty bed, carefully made, and the pile of data pads on an otherwise neatly arranged table. He looked through them briefly, but there was nothing interesting. Perfectly folded bandages sat on a shelf by the bed, beside bacta patches. A few spare lightsaber parts rolled around. There wasn’t much.

Anakin sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

Obi-Wan would have advised him to meditate, to calm his thoughts, and, by that point, Anakin had nothing else to try. He closed his eyes, pushing past the flashes of that terrible dream that had awoken him back on Coruscant, and tugging at the Force. He breathed in and out, trying to slow his thoughts from their incredible velocity. It was a fitful process, unpracticed and clumsy, but he managed, eventually, helped by the ghost of Obi-Wan’s presence in the room.

He sunk down into the great expanse of the Force, clearing his mind, spreading out his senses…

And his eyes snapped open as something reached out and touched him, tugging at him across parsecs and parsecs of space. Obi-Wan. He could sense Obi-Wan. And Force, someone was hurting him.

Anakin stood carefully, worried that the feeling would flee if he moved too quickly, and marched grimly through the ship. The troopers voiced no complaint when Anakin stormed back onto the bridge and ordered that they go to a random sector of space. Anakin stood on the bridge once the course was plotted in, his hands clenched at his back, his head bowed so he could focus on the tenuous connection in his thoughts.

He felt pain radiating through the strange channel through the Force. Pain and exhaustion and fear. The last took him by surprise. Obi-Wan feared nothing, as far as Anakin had ever been able to tell. He walked into any danger that was asked of him, without so much as a glimmer of hesitation. But it was there now, thick and cloying.

Anakin tried to project strength back along the pathway connecting them, but he had never been very good at such a thing. He sensed no change from Obi-Wan’s emotions at the effort. He kept it up, anyway. Maybe it would, if nothing else, let Obi-Wan know that aid was on the way.

He looked to the side when Cody stepped up beside him, offering out a cup of tea.

Anakin took it, grimacing at the ache in his limbs that indicated he’d been standing still for hours. He gulped at the drink.

“Can you really sense him?” Cody asked, looking out the view screen instead of at Anakin.

“Yes.”

“Mm.” Cody sipped his own tea. And then he sighed and straightened his shoulders. “Back on Circindia,” he said, and left it hang there between them.

The glove over Anakin’s mechanical hand creaked. He ignored it. He’d been expecting this, after all. “What about it?”

“You hurt him,” Cody said the words blandly, with just a hint of reproach.

It stung. And he had no excuse. The bruises had been incriminating and plain for everyone to see. He scowled at the tea. “The way the suppressants wore off—”

“No,” Cody interrupted, stiff and blunt. “That didn’t cause it. I told you, we’ve seen that situation before. Kenobi isn’t the first general to go through… that.”

Anakin glanced sideways, curious despite the situation. “Who else?”

One side of Cody’s mouth lifted. He didn’t say anything, and Anakin shook his head, letting it go. He slugged back the last of the tea. “Obi-Wan would be mortified if he knew we were talking about this.”

“Why I’m not talking to him about it, sir.”

Anakin sighed. The thing was, Obi-Wan had not felt hurt, not during the insanity of touch and need. Anakin had done everything he asked, and a lot of what he’d asked had been along the lines of ‘harder’ and ‘more.’ There had been no complaints. Certainly he had not felt the way he did at that moment, the agony of it pushing against Anakin’s mind through the strange connection in the Force. “I’d never hurt him on purpose.”

Cody finished his drink. “Alright,” he said, finally, and that was it, apparently. He didn’t look satisfied, exactly, but what else could Anakin promise? “Make sure you don’t.”

Anakin shook his head to clear away the conversation, and refocused on Obi-Wan’s distant presence in the Force.

#

The questions blurred together, after a while. It didn’t take all that long, in the grand scheme of things, not with Obi-Wan’s previous injuries. He sunk deeper and deeper into the Force, holding the pain at a distant remove, concentrating on healing the worst of the injuries, triaging his body as Dooku pressed and pressed and pressed.

Sometimes he thought Anakin was there with them, he felt sure of it, but every time he looked to the side it was only the filthy walls of the Separatist ship and Dooku’s rotten smile.

“What did you find on Circindia?” Dooku demanded, the tip of his lightsaber blindingly bright, held right in front of Obi-Wan’s left eye.

“The Metropolitan Coruscant Ballet,” Obi-Wan wheezed. His smile felt crooked. “All two hundred of them. In tights. I’ve no idea what they were—”

The butt of the saber hit his temple and he sagged, held up by the shackles around his wrist. He panted, dizzy, and asked, “Not a fan of the arts, Count?”

Dooku snarled. “I will—”

“Excuse me, Count,” a battle droid stuttered from outside of Obi-Wan’s cage, managing to look awkward, a fine accomplishment for a mechanical creation. “There’s a message for you, sir. Very high priority. Should I put it through down here—”

“Be silent!” Dooku snapped, stepping away from Obi-Wan.

“I don’t mind,” Obi-Wan offered, spitting blood onto the floor and panting. “Don’t leave on my account.”

Dooku ignored him. His footsteps retreated down the hall, and Obi-Wan groaned, shifting, trying to find any position that was even slightly comfortable. His arms burned. His legs were… not worth mentioning. His head swam. But he’d fed enough healing into his vital organs that they still functioned. Dooku had avoided his torso, in any case, perhaps trying to drag things out. Who knew what the Sith would do to fill up empty time.

After a while, he gave up trying to achieve comfort, his mind drifting halfway between dreams and waking.

#

Dooku stormed through the filthy halls of the ship, scowling at his bruised knuckles, his temper worsening by the step. He waved curtly at the droid running the communications station, and straightened his cape as the hologram sprung to life in front of him.

His master looked out from beneath a deep hood, radiating a sense of power even across the tremendous distance that separated them. “You have possession of Kenobi?” the hooded figure demanded immediately, spitting the name.

Dooku kept any hint of surprise off of his face. He had not reported the capture immediately, preferring to see what he could learn from the Jedi before he made a report. He inclined his head. “I do, my master.”

The figure hissed and then collected itself. “Kill him,” it ordered.

The surprise was harder to control, but Dooku was hardly some whelp to be overrun by emotion. He narrowed his eyes. “I am close to breaking him,” he said.

His master snorted. “Doubtful. But it matters not, one way or the other. He has become… a threat to our plans. You will kill him now, before he is out of our reach.” Dooku frowned, hesitation digging at his thoughts. “You have another protest?”

“He is with child,” Dooku said, finally. It bothered him, he realized. There was nothing civilized about killing a pregnant omega. Even the corrupt Republic would draw a line there.

His master rose, then, hissing once more, whipped into a frenzy by the news. “Then you must kill him at once! Do not wait another moment! Do it!”

#

Obi-Wan startled, badly, when the door to his cage swung open again. He’d really, truly hoped that Dooku would be distracted for longer. He cleared his throat, trying to brace for the renewed assault, and rolled his head up, asking, “Was it anyone I would know?”

And he gaped.

“Sh,” Ventress hissed, creeping into the room, holding one of her lightsabers.

She drew it up and back, and Obi-Wan flinched, trying to protect his head and—

His arms dropped like lead weights when she cut the chain holding them up. He bit his tongue to hold in a cry, and she grabbed the chain before it could clatter to the floor. “Come on,” she snapped, already heading back for the door. “We don’t have much time before they come back.”

Obi-Wan panted, laughing silently. He managed to get one leg in the right position, wavering, and then Ventress was back, swearing under her breath and dragging him upright. “I said come on, Kenobi. I remember you being far tougher than this. Shake it off and let’s get out of here.”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he groaned, doing his best to walk, or at least limp. Ventress’s aid was not nearly as unexpected as it might once have been.

“Sithspit,” she said, pulling him along more quickly, “was it that bad? What did he do to you?” But he could feel a faint hint of pleasure from her through the Force, and her arm around his chest tightened.

He leaned on her, and she took his weight, dragging him through the winding corridors of the ship, dodging patrols like she knew where they would be. She probably did. She led him directly to a little ship, built more for speed that comfort, and well-armed for its size. She dropped him in the co-pilot’s seat and he bit off a groan, ignoring the sharp look she sent him. “You’re not going to die while I get us out of here, are you?”

“I’ll endeavor not to,” he rasped.

“Good,” she snapped and disengaged them from the ship. “Because that was the easy part.”

And that was when Dooku’s ship began shooting at them.

“Why are you even doing this?” He panted, buckling in desperately while she dodged around incoming fighters and blaster fire. “Not that I’m not grateful,” he added, hurriedly.

“Truthfully?” She flashed him a smile that was wide and vicious. “Spite. I heard Dooku had got his grimy hands on you and I thought to myself, what would really ruin his day?” She shrugged. “After that, stealing you from him seemed obvious.” She glanced at him, rolling them to the side to avoid the strafing fire, and a flash of cold anger filled in her expression as her gaze fell to his stomach. She said, her tone as frozen as the void of space, “Did he do that to you?”

Obi-Wan blinked, exhaustion slowing his thoughts. “What?”

Ventress scoffed, firing back and jerking the nose of the ship down. “It wouldn’t be like him, but the scum he employs…”

The anger was par for the course, with her. Obi-Wan would have been disconcerted if she failed to radiate fury. He just wished he knew why she was so angry at the moment. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

She rolled her eyes over at him. “Relax, Kenobi. You don’t have to try to spare my delicate sensibilities. I know about everything that can happen when the enemy captures you, every terrible, bloody, disgusting bit of it.” Her eyes narrowed further and her fingers twisted around the controls.

Oh. _Oh_.

Obi-Wan grimaced, only partially because she spun the ship again and the restraints pressed on a dozen wounds. “It wasn’t like that,” he said. He made no effort to deny the pregnancy. Apparently, anyone even remotely Force sensitive could pick up on it. He was more surprised than anything that it had… endured. Surely that would not continue, not in the face of all of his injuries.

The thought stuck an ache up under his ribs and he pushed it out into the Force.

“No?” She asked, voice dripping sarcasm. “Am I to believe that the great Obi-Wan Kenobi took a lover, sullying his body like the rest of us?” She stared in his eyes and he expected her to exclaim in shock, when she realized she spoke the truth. Instead, she nodded, grim. “No. I didn’t think so.” He wondered, with horror, what his expression had shown.

“Ventress—”

“We’ll talk later,” she said, throwing the ship into a barrel roll to evade the blaster fire on their tail. “And then, if it wasn’t him, I’m going to need a name, Kenobi.”

In the end, he escaped her questions by passing out as soon as they reached hyperspace.

#

Anakin jerked, swaying where he had fallen asleep on his feet. “Anakin?” Ahsoka asked, stepping up to support him.

“He’s moving,” Anakin said, thickly. While he had slept, the pain had moved more freely across the connection. His legs felt as though they should not work. His head swam. He shook his head to clear it. “They’ve gone into hyperspace.” He shuddered. “They’re faster than we are. Much faster.”

“Where should we go?” one of the troopers demanded, hands hovering over the controls.

“Move,” Anakin barked, all but pushing the man out of the way and taking his place. It was too hard to explain. Simply changing course was so much easier. They’d gotten too close, come too far, to lose Obi-Wan. He held onto the connection, trying to predict the other ship’s course since there was no way they could catch it, tracking it as it shot across the stars, focusing as hours sped by, bringing him closer and closer to where he needed to be.

#

The jerking of the ship woke Obi-Wan, where he dozed in the cramped cabin. He had no memory of crawling onto the tiny little cot and he pushed blearily at a blanket he did not remember pulling on. He heard Ventress swear from the cockpit as he stumbled out of the cabin, bracing a hand against the wall and demanding, “What’s happening?”

“Some kriffing asshole pulled us out of hyperspace,” she snarled, her hands flying across the controls. Proximity alarms screamed in the ship. It jerked and jumped as she yanked on the controls. Obi-Wan rooted his feet into place with the Force, hit by—something, something dizzying and familiar.

“It’s a kriffing Republic cruiser!” Ventress yelled, fury radiating off of her. “They’ve got us in a tractor beam! How did they even find us?”

The comm-system crackled to life, then, and a familiar voice said, “Unknown vessel, release your hatch immediately.” The ship settled hard—already in a hanger bay? The cruiser must have been right on top of them when they were pulled out of hyperspace. They were lucky they hadn’t been crushed.

“The hell with that,” Ventress snapped, swinging from her chair, calling her lightsabers to her hands.

Obi-Wan protested, “Wait!” They had to be there for him, didn’t they? Though he was unsure why they’d approached the situation with so much aggression. If everyone just took a breath—

The hatch of Ventress’s ship buckled outward, groaned, and was torn completely off. It clattered away across the hanger, leaving a trail of surprised shouts in its wake. A second later, Anakin leapt through the hole he’d made, his lightsaber drawn and his eyes wild.

Obi-Wan blinked at him, wicked relief rolling out from his chest, removing a weight from his shoulders that he had not even realized he carried. He sagged, his bad knee threatening to give as his head swam. Anakin’s eyes locked on him immediately and he made a raw, terrible sound, crossing the distance between them in two steps and pulling Obi-Wan close, tilting his face up and pressing a brief, hard kiss to his mouth before pushing him back again and looking him over. Anakin’s eyes widened, after a half second, and darkened, and he crowded close again, one hand going to Obi-Wan’s stomach as realization dawned across his features. The entire thing took a handful of heartbeats to occur. Anakin opened his mouth and—

Ventress cleared her throat, pointedly.

Anakin pivoted towards her, saber ignited once more, shoving Obi-Wan back.

Shock made Obi-Wan’s tongue slow, but he managed to snap, “Anakin, stop! She… rescued me. From Dooku. Please, play nicely.” Over Anakin’s shoulder, Ventress looked back and forth between them, her eyes narrowed and sharp.

Anakin stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed, lowering the tip of the saber if not switching it off. “My thanks,” he said.

She shrugged. “Someone has to keep an eye on him.” Anakin bristled all over again. Obi-Wan pushed a wave of calm towards him. She drawled, “I take gratitude in credits, by the way. And repairs. Look what you did to my ship!”

Obi-Wan sighed. They certainly weren’t going to pay her for his return. That would be ridiculous, he wasn’t—

“You’ll have both,” Anakin snapped, pushing Obi-Wan towards the make-shift exit to the ship. A tremendous amount of troopers waited outside, all of them armed to the teeth. Obi-Wan wondered how many threats they’d imagined could have possibly fit in Ventress’s tiny ship. They folded in around him as Anakin pulled one of Obi-Wan’s arms across his shoulders, taking his weight when his knee threatened to give. “Let’s get you to the med-bay.”

“Good idea,” Obi-Wan panted, too dizzy to think clearly about anything that was happening.

#

Droids and clone medics swarmed around Obi-Wan once Anakin deposited him on a med beds. One of the droids tried to nudge Anakin out of the way, but gave up after a few attempts. No one else was fool enough to dare it.

They cut away what little remained of Obi-Wan’s robes, ignoring his faint protests that really, he was quite alright, he just needed some sleep. Anakin crossed his arms tight, looking at the burns, the cuts, the bruises, all the rest of it. The wounds were extensive and seemed intended to cause pain, save for the ones on his legs. Those had been designed to cripple.

“Dooku did this?” Anakin asked, watching the medics clean the wounds and apply bacta.

Obi-Wan blinked up at him, his eyes dazed and not quite focusing. He looked ready to pass out. “Hm? Yes.” He grimaced when one of the med droids grabbed his knee and did something to it that involved several loud crunches.

Anakin ground his teeth together. “Why?”

Something passed across Obi-Wan’s face, then, smoothing any expression away. “He wanted information I was disinclined to give him.”

“Sir,” one of the troopers reached out for Anakin’s arm and stopped before the touch connected, clearing his throat. “It’ll be easier for him, if he sleeps. Could you…?” The trooper gestured at Obi-Wan’s head.

“Of course.” Anakin should have thought about that earlier. “I’m going to help you into a healing trance, alright, Obi-Wan?” Obi-Wan barely fought him when Anakin directed him down, flat onto his back. He looked utterly exhausted. And nervous.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“It is,” Anakin assured him, brushing Obi-Wan’s hair gently back from his forehead, knowing, even as he did it, that it was improper. “You’re safe now.”

“Alright.” Obi-Wan yawned, then, already halfway to unconsciousness. “If you say so.” He went limp all at once, Anakin’s palm resting over his forehead, sending healing energy into his skin. Anakin fed more and more of the Force down where it was needed, his exact understanding of the injuries expanding as Obi-Wan’s body filled the entirety of his awareness.

The wounds were not deadly—not taken individually. But Obi-Wan’s body had been taxed by their sheer volume, by previous battlefield injuries, by exhaustion, and by—

Wild emotion filled Anakin’s skin to its very limits as he confirmed what he had sensed in the hanger bay.

Obi-Wan carried a child. The pregnancy was in the early stages, barely a collection of cells, really, but the Force curled around it nonetheless. It grew. Anakin sunk further into the connection, wrapping the Force around the spark of new growth, weaving layers of protection on one after the other. He gentled each touch, terrified of doing harm, keeping each brush of the Force more delicate than he had ever attempted before.

A gentle push against his senses drew him back into his own body. He shook his head, groggy and momentarily confused, and Ahsoka supported his weight when he sagged. “Hey, there, Skyguy,” she said, her voice gentle and quiet. “They’re all finished with him. Can you, um… Stop. Please. They’d like to put him in the bacta tanks, now.”

His palm still rested across Obi-Wan’s forehead, but the skin around it was clean now. They’d pulled a sheet up over his chest. Two clone medics waited by the foot of the bed, looking deeply unsure about how to proceed. Anakin cleared his throat. “Right, yes.” He bent and lifted Obi-Wan easily, the sheet falling over his arms. “The bacta tanks.”

Anakin stood to one side as the medics fitted the mask over Obi-Wan’s face, hooking him up to the sensors that would monitor his vital signs before finally lowering him into the tank, where he hung, limp and healing. Anakin pressed his hand to the outside of the tank, and, after a moment, Ahsoka joined him. “Master,” she said, quietly, as the medics stepped away to tend to some other injured soul, “his Force signature is different.”

“Yes.”

“And he, uh. He smells strange.”

“Probably the blood.”

Ahsoka’s fingers curled against the tank. She sighed. “Ventress is still waiting for you. I made her stay in the hanger bay.” She wrinkled her nose. “She asked how he was.”

Anakin sighed. “I’ll deal with her later.” He looked down at Ahsoka, radiating concern and uneasiness, and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “Thanks for your help, Snips. Why don’t you go get some rest? We’ll sort the rest of this out in the morning.”

For a moment, he thought she would argue, but she nodded in the end, covering a yawn and making her way out of the infirmary. Anakin turned and settled at the base of the tank, folding his legs and laying his lightsaber in front of his feet, within easy reach. The infirmary fell quiet, emptied at the moment, and he curled his hands into fists and finally allowed the anger he’d held in check to arch up his spine.

Dooku had tortured Obi-Wan—a sin enough, all on its own. But Obi-Wan was pregnant. And the child had to be—it had to be his, didn’t it? He could have lost Obi-Wan. He could have lost a child before he even knew he might have one. Around the room, beds and equipment rattled, moving as his emotions leaked out into the Force. And why? Because the Council saw fit to honor the foolish request of an old man? Anakin should have been there. The situation should never have been allowed to occur.

He breathed out, pushing down the anger, worried that he would damage the bacta tanks in his rage, and his emotions swung back around, hitting a wild kind of joy that he could not remember experiencing before. They would have a child. Surely, surely that meant something? Surely Obi-Wan would have to understand, now, that they belonged with one another, regardless of the Council’s outdated views?

Then again, what would the Council do, once they found out? There was no way to hide it. The Force around Obi-Wan shouted the truth of it. Would they turn Obi-Wan from the Order? If they tried to bring any harm to either Obi-Wan or the child, Anakin would…

And the anger returned, just like that.

Anakin tipped his head back against the tank, feeling as though his skin could barely contain the roiling emotions tearing through him.

#

Ventress had never been escorted so politely through a Republic cruiser before. It was a novel experience. Four troopers surrounded her, their nerves impressively buried as they walked her down the brightly lit halls and delivered her to the medical bay.

It shined. She glanced at the beds, the supplies, the droids just waiting to spring into use, and only focused on the bacta tanks lining the back of the room when Skywalker said, “Leave us. I can handle her.”

Ventress sneered. “You never could before,” she said, dragging her fingers across a bed as she approached. Kenobi floated in the tank at Skywalker’s back, tubes hooked up to his body, a mask over his face. The wounds across his skin already looked smaller.

Skywalker grunted, his arms crossed and his chin down. “Do you have an account I should put the credits in?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is it yours?” He looked up, then, his eyes terribly bright, especially when contrasted with the dark circles beneath them. She hummed. “Thought so.”

He took a step towards her. “If you tell—”

She laughed, waving a hand. “Who would I tell that couldn’t see it on their own? You’re not exactly subtle, Skywalker.” He’d kissed Kenobi right in front of her, after all, and then nearly climbed on the man. He clenched his jaw up but said nothing. Perhaps he was thinking up an appropriate threat. She stopped a few feet away from the tank. Something about his posture suggested he’d go for her throat if she came any closer. “What are you going to do?”

He deflated then, just a little. “I don’t know.”

He looked haunted.

She almost felt sorry for him. “If you want my advice,” she said, prompted by that strange emotion. “You’ll take him and run. Now. Before he can argue about it. There are places on the rim where you can hide. This war is no place to carry a child. Especially if you’re a Jedi. Especially if the kid belongs to the Chosen One.” He stared at her, his expression gone gaunt and grim, and she sighed. “Tell you what. Keep the credits. You might need them more than I do.” And she grinned, wide and pleased and feral. “Imaging Dooku’s face when he realizes what I took away from him is reward enough on its own.”

#

They pulled Obi-Wan from the bacta; he woke soaked and coughing to be subjected to a dozen scans and tests. He bore it with as much good humor as he could manage, while Anakin hovered nearby, radiating concerned anxiety the way he usually radiated irritation.

One of the clone medics waited until Obi-Wan was granted a moment’s privacy to dress to corner him, white-knuckling a data pad. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement and the man cleared his throat. “Sir, we found, that is, you seem to be—”

“I know,” Obi-Wan interrupted, sparing the poor trooper from trying to find the words.

The trooper nodded, looking very grim. Obi-Wan did not request secrecy. That would be cruel. The news would spread around the ship like wildfire no matter what he did. The only question was whether it would spread out away from their little group. Not that it mattered. Dooku knew.

Anakin stepped up as soon as the trooper moved away, hovering and dogging Obi-Wan’s steps from the med-bay, through the halls, to his quarters. Obi-Wan took a bracing breath before he stepped through the door, unsurprised when Anakin followed. He was obviously a man with something he felt he needed to say. Obi-Wan could guess the subject, as much as he’d prefer to avoid it.

He looked around his room. The blankets on the bed were rumpled and Obi-Wan blinked at them, puzzled.

“Is it—Obi-Wan, is it mine?” Anakin sounded as though simply asking the question was agonizing. Obi-Wan glanced at him, noticing the tension with which he held himself, the barely contained energy in his limbs.

And perhaps the bacta was still affecting him, because he shrugged, managing calm despite the riot of his thoughts. “There has been no other.”

Anakin’s expression broke and he stepped forward, crossing the cramped room, cupping Obi-Wan’s face between his hands and ducking, kissing Obi-Wan hard and deep and desperate.

It took Obi-Wan by surprise. He stared at Anakin’s brow, his eyelids, his cheeks, while shivering down his spine. His knees weakened; perhaps they had not been healed properly. He swayed forward, whatever the reason, and Anakin groaned, deepening the kiss as sense-memories of skin and sweat and touch threatened to overwhelm Obi-Wan’s thoughts.

Force, but he had nearly managed to forget how good such things felt.

He gathered himself, then, stepping back quickly, protesting, “Anakin! What are you doing?”

Anakin’s mouth was red and wet. His eyes were hot and his hair fell forward over his face when he licked his bottom lip. “It’s alright, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan laughed. He had to. “Is it? What part of it?”

Anakin grimaced. “I know that we didn’t plan on this, but—”

“But what? Anakin, I am pregnant with your child!” Force, why did that make Anakin’s eyes darken? His reaction sped Obi-Wan’s pulse and he pushed the response down, burying it. “The Council will find out. I don’t know if I can protect you—”

“You don’t need to protect me,” Anakin protested.

Obi-Wan scoffed, shoving his hair back from his face. “Anakin…”

“No, Obi-Wan, listen.” Anakin stepped close, his hand curving against Obi-Wan’s neck. His other fingers brushed Obi-Wan’s side, sending shivers across his flesh. “I should have told you, I—I love you.” Anakin’s eyes were soft and dark; a small smile curled at the corners of his mouth. Obi-Wan jerked his head to the side, a denial, his mind blossoming with riotous emotion, far too much of it to be released to the Force.

“No,” he said, stepping to the side, pushing aside Anakin’s arm when he reached out. He had to stay focused. He had to resist—this, whatever this was. Anakin needed him to. “No, you’re just—the intensity of the situation on Circindia, and now this, it would overwhelm—”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin sounded fond and frustrated in nearly equal measure. He caught Obi-Wan’s wrist, holding gently. “I’ve loved you for years.”

“No.” It seemed to be all Obi-Wan could think to say.

“Yes.” Anakin stroked his thumb across Obi-Wan’s wrist. He stepped a little closer. “Search my emotions. Tell me it isn’t true.”

Obi-Wan did not need to _search_. Anakin’s emotions saturated the room, curling against him like smoke, breathed into his lungs and pumped through his veins. The emotion felt deep, impossibly deep, nurtured over a long period of time. Anakin leaned closer, warm and solid, his voice a low murmur. “I know you care for me, too.”

Obi-Wan shivered, striving to clear his mind, even if just for a moment. “Anakin, it doesn’t—even if I—we _can’t_.” There. That covered all of Obi-Wan’s feelings sufficiently.

Anakin huffed a small laugh. He curled an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist and leaned down. His nose brushed the arch of Obi-Wan’s cheek. “We already _did_.”

Force. Obi-Wan swallowed hard and sat abruptly on the end of the bed, shoulders curling down. He felt as though he’d received a terrible blow. He stared forward, unblinking, his thoughts in such an uproar that he could not pin a single one of them down. Anakin still held his wrist, and knelt, then, touching Obi-Wan’s cheek, his neck, asking, full of naked concern, “Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, his familiar face transformed by emotion into something Obi-Wan barely knew. His chest hurt. The medics must have missed some injury. He shook his head, unable to even conceive of words, and Anakin bent, his expression tightening with guilt, and pressed a brief kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. You’re still recovering. This was the wrong time to—we don’t have to talk about this now.”

They should not talk about it at any point, but Obi-Wan would take the reprieve he was apparently being offered.

Anakin straightened, jerkily. He said, “Just… remember what I said. I meant it. All of it. And I’ll be waiting, whenever you’re ready.”

And then he was gone.

Obi-Wan stared at the door, numb not with shock, but with emotion.


	3. Chapter 3

“You have failed me.”

The holo of Dooku’s master shimmered in the space before him, close on the man’s twisted, hateful expression. Nearly a week of travel separated them, and Dooku was grateful for it, in that moment. Still. There was no reason to behave like some over-awed youngling. He sniffed and tilted his chin up, narrowing his eyes at the blue image. “Ventress was well-trained, and I could not have predicted—”

“Silence!” his master snarled, hissing the word, snake-like. “You squandered a perfect opportunity like an ignorant fool.”

Dooku’s nostrils flared, and he fought down the crackling anger spreading through his gut. Having Kenobi stolen from under his nose—by his failed apprentice, no less—was infuriating. The accusation that he had failed simply by keeping the Jedi alive for questioning only added to his rage. “You have never been over-concerned with striking Kenobi down before.”

His master sneered. “Skywalker had not mated him before.”

Dooku fought not to blink, not to twitch, not to change the speed of his breath. He did not say anything foolish, he did not protest that surely the child Kenobi carried—if it had endured Dooku’s hospitality, and even a matter still relevant to discussion—was half-clone. Naming it Skywalker’s whelp was not a hard accusation to believe; he had fought the pair too often to doubt their attachment to one another. He had seen how weak they were where the other was concerned. He had been there on Geonosis, when the two seemed seconds away from succumbing to the mating heat. And the Force signature surrounding the pregnancy _had_ been extraordinarily powerful.

Before, he had thought Kenobi too loyal to the Jedi way to ever indulge Skywalker’s desires, despite his painfully obvious attraction. There was no way the arrogant knight would ever manage a relationship without attachment, that much was clear to anyone with eyes. But Kenobi must have given in. War could wear down even the most slavish of devotees. Dooku pushed aside all of his thoughts and scoffed. “So Skywalker got a child on him. That should hardly necessitate this level of concern.”

“Are you blind even still? Skywalker _yearns_ for a family. Already he is distracted—foolish as only an alpha with a gravid omega can be.” His master sneered, spitting the words with naked scorn, a reminder that he was a beta and considered himself beyond the foolish drives of their kind. How disappointing this all had to be for him, after he gloated and bragged for so long about managing to thwart Skywalker’s attachment to the troublesome Senator from Naboo.

“So kill Kenobi. It should not be difficult for you.”

“ _No_ ,” his master hissed, the glow in his eyes obvious, even through the holo. “Or rather, not yet. Skywalker knows now about his spawn. He will go mad with the loss. We cannot waste such an event.” His master’s words were easy to believe. Dooku had seen Skywalker dance along the blade’s edge of madness before, in battle, when it seemed that Kenobi might fall. And that had been before the mating. It was not difficult to imagine his reaction to the loss of mate and child.

“What is it you desire, then, my master?”

His master’s expression said he desired Dooku’s head. He clicked his tongue and said, “We will have to accelerate our time-table. We move to the final stage of the game. An alpha with young will be… too unpredictable for our needs.”

Dooku scowled. “But the Mandalore situation remains unresolved.”

His master smiled, then, a terrible sight to behold, as ever. “I have it well in hand. I shall expect you in Coruscant within seven day-cycles.”

The holo disconnected, leaving the room dark and quiet, and Dooku stewing, angered by the entirety of the conversation. He turned away with a snarl, crushing the droid standing at blank attention in the doorway. It sputtered and frizzed as he walked by, its vocal processors babbling garbled nonsense into the otherwise silent hall of the ship.

#

Ahsoka tracked Anakin down in a lift, moments after he left Obi-Wan. She leapt through the door before it could shut, her expression set and her emotions a fitful swirl. Anakin braced for impact. He wasn’t in the frame of mind to deal with whatever was in her thoughts after his conversation with Obi-Wan, but she did not look willing to be turned away. “Ahsoka, something I can—”

She jabbed a finger into his chest and hissed, “Master Obi-Wan is going to have a baby and you didn’t tell me.”

Force, but word traveled fast. He sighed, grateful at least that the lift was otherwise empty. How to even _begin_ to explain to her what had happened? “Snips—”

“It happened on Circindia, didn’t it? That’s why you didn’t want to tell me about the mission.”

He saw no realistic way to deny it. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did you even find out?”

“Rex told me! Or, well.” She had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. “I overheard him, anyway, and _then_ he told me.” The lift stopped and began to open. Ahsoka waved a hand and shut it again, stopping it in place. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“It’s… this is a complicated situation, Ahsoka. And no one knew he was… you know. Until we rescued him.”

She crossed her arms and glared at the floor, chewing her bottom lip. “I’ve never seen a pregnant Jedi.”

“That’s why it’s complicated, Snips.” Part of why it was complicated, anyway.

“But it’s not his fault! I had R2 look up the Council’s orders about Circindia. They’re not allowing omegas there at all. The planet must do _something_ to us. And he wouldn’t have known before the mission.” She glanced at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

He shrugged. “Complicated, remember?”

She sighed and turned, leaning against the lift by his side. “What are we going to do about it?”

That was the million credit question. Anakin knew what _he_ wanted to do about it, but he could sense the confusion still pouring off of Obi-Wan from across the ship. That was better than disgust, anyway. But it wasn’t the reaction Anakin had hoped for, either. He had thought—well. He’d thought things would be easier. They felt so right together. And Obi-Wan _had_ kissed him back, before projecting so much confusion and shock that Anakin had realized he needed time to think. “I don’t know yet.”

“Will the Council be angry?”

He snorted. “They’ll probably be _disappointed_.”

“Will they—what will they do?”

That question had occurred to Anakin, once or twice. A hundred times, while he watched Obi-Wan slowly healing in the bacta tank. He sighed. “Who knows? They might not do anything, if he… has no attachment to the child or the other parent.” That possibility stung like fire. But he took comfort in the fact that it couldn’t be the case. He’d felt _something_ from Obi-Wan, a whole lot of something. And Obi-Wan would know how important a child would be to him, surely.

She mulled that one over for a moment and then, staring very firmly at the far wall, she said, “Rex told me it’s probably Cody’s… you know.” Anakin fought to keep his face still, irrationally irritated by a rumor. Ahsoka cut him a sideways look. “But it’s funny, Master, I didn’t get the feeling he really believed it.”

Anakin glanced at her. “Is that right?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I see,” she said, finally, nodding sharply. “Well. Good talk.” And she waved a hand at the door again and left. She made it only a step before an alarm blared through the ship.

#

_Coruscant was under attack_.

The words repeated in Obi-Wan’s thoughts as he raced through the _Negotiator’s_ halls, the sheer surprise of them dampening the tumult of his emotions in a way that meditation had been unable to achieve. The Separatists had never struck so deep into Republic territory before. To attack Coruscant had to be madness on their part. They left themselves open to attack from behind, they would be cut off from all supply lines. It was insanity, unless they had some weapon, some plan too heinous to be imagined….

By the time he reached the control room, the _Negotiator_ had already changed course, heading back towards Coruscant with all speed. They were days away, even with the engines pushed to the max. Anakin and Ahsoka had beaten him to the bridge and stood over a holographic representation of the battle. Obi-Wan hesitated, just for a moment, and then gritted his teeth and joined them.

His emotions still felt too close to the surface of his skin, but he had tucked them away as best he could, the necessity of the situation giving him something else to focus on. “What do we have?” he asked, ignoring the quick glances cut his way from around the room.

Anakin focused on him long after everyone else glanced away, looking him up and down and then shaking his head. His tone, at least, managed to be professional. “Best we can tell, its Count Dooku’s fleet, supported by General Grievous. They emerged from hyperspace right above Coruscant. Masters Secura and Fisto were both close by, they’re moving in to provide support, but…” Anakin gestured at the hologram.

Ships appeared and disappeared as the battle waged, lives snuffed out in an instant—too far away for Obi-Wan to do anything about any of it.

Ahsoka shook her head. “This attack makes no sense. There’s no way they can win.”

Obi-Wan stared at the battle, frowning. “Not in a stand-up fight, no.”

Anakin gave up the pretense of not staring at him. “What are you thinking?”

None of the ships had reached the planet’s surface yet. At least, not any that Obi-Wan could see. But a tiny ship could, in the middle of the insanity of battle, slip away relatively unnoticed… “There are a lot of high-profile targets on Coruscant,” he said. “The Senate. The Temple. How much damage could they do, taking out even one of those institutions?”

“Not enough to win the war. Most of the Jedi and the armies are in the field,” Anakin said, but he looked as grim as Obi-Wan felt.

“Perhaps. But there are a lot of people on Coruscant, as well. Millions could be killed in a single attack. Billions. _Civilians_. It would only take a few lucky shots.” He sighed. “Most of the planets in the Republic have yet to see a _piece_ of the war. We’ve kept the worst of the fighting out of their worlds. These people just hear about it on the holonet. They won’t be ready for any of this. If the Separatists do enough damage….”

Such an attack could take the spirit from the Republic, and certainly make them more willing to do anything necessary to ensure further attacks did not occur, even if it meant ceding to the demands of the Separatists. It was a tactic Obi-Wan had considered trying to utilize for the Republic, walking among too many of the dead, but the Separatists lacked the necessary centralized base of power for it to be effective. It would have been a terrible way to achieve victory. But, still, on the darkest nights, when his men died around him, he had contemplated it….

Anakin’s jaw tightened. He asked, “Can we get any more speed out of these engines?”

#

The sirens to signal a planetary attack went off in the small hours of the morning, the time when Padme would normally be either sleeping, or, on less fortunate nights, preparing for arguments in the Senate. She happened to be awake and enjoying herself far more the night of the attacks—she had not intended to stay up so late speaking with Duchess Satine, but she had mentioned the events of her queen-ship and one of Satine’s questions had led to another, until they ended up half-drunk on her couches, Satine laughing as Padme finished, “And then my headdress caught on fire.”

“Did you manage to convince the delegation it was intentional?” Satine asked, flashing her a smile that was entirely too cheery for the late hour.

Padme giggled, wondering where 3PO had gotten to with that bottle of wine, and nearly jumped out of her skin when the emergency report sirens blared. Satine touched her wrist, her fingers warm and comforting as they were informed that a Separatist fleet had appeared above the planet, but that they were not to worry—Republic forces had already responded and would turn aside the threat. They were instructed to stay calm. To go about their business. To wait for further news and instructions.

The news sobered Padme more quickly that a solid night of sleep could have. She hurried to stand, straightening her robes and looking for her shoes as 3PO bustled into the room. “Senator Amidala, your presence is urgently requested at the Senate for an emergency meeting!”

“Thank you, 3PO, I thought it might be.” She glanced out the huge windows across from the couches, half-expecting to see angry red explosions bursting across the buildings. As of yet, the attack appeared contained above the planet. She doubted, sincerely, that would last very long.

Padme slipped her feet into shoes and shoved at her hair—down in relaxed curls around her bared shoulders, and she cursed whatever impulse had led her to wear it loose—and Satine stepped up behind her, resting her hands temporarily on Padme’s shoulders. “Would you like it braided?” she asked. “Quickly?”

“Please,” Padme murmured, pleased by the offer, and she stood still while Satine plaited her hair with quick, nimble fingers. The care she expended calmed Padme’s racing heart, dampening the initial surge of fright. This would be handled. It was just one more attack in a war full of them. Perhaps it was not even as bad as it seemed. “Would you care to accompany me to the Senate?” she asked, as Satine tucked one escaped curl behind her ear.

Satine’s mouth quirked up in the corners and her pale eyes glinted. “I would be delighted.”

#

Meditation grew no easier as they raced towards Coruscant. A hundred distractions pulled at Obi-Wan’s thoughts. The troopers radiated low-grade anxiety and aggression, more than he was used to on all but the worst of the battlefields they’d marched across. Anakin burned like a star in their midst, his gravity drawing Obi-Wan’s senses in every single unguarded moment. And his own emotions were currently a great trial on their own. He felt want and hunger and, worst of all, fear.

Obi-Wan pressed his hand over his face, attempting to swallow down the sour taste of fear in the back of his throat. It was untouched by both meditation and his research into the bylaws of the Order. He’d found no regulation _against_ his condition, but neither had he discovered anything approaching guidance on how to handle it, much less how to secure approval of any kind.

Coupled with the knowledge that Coruscant labored under an attack that could prove disastrous at any time, and, well…

_There is no emotion…_ He repeated the chant, thoughts gliding along the familiar words, and his door chimed. He thought, for a moment, that it must be Anakin and felt—worried, pleased, _confused_. He released the entire tangle of emotions as best he could and shook his head. It was not Anakin in any case, but rather one of the troopers: Cody, by the feel of his presence in the Force. Obi-Wan opened the door with a sigh, setting aside the fruitless meditation. “Commander. How can I help you?”

Cody looked tired. Everyone seemed to, these days. The war had dragged on for far too long. He cast a look down the hall and said, “Hoping I could speak with you for a moment, General. Privately.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan stepped aside and motioned Cody into his quarters. He’d never had so many visitors as he had in the recent past. They stood, awkwardly facing one another, until Obi-Wan cleared his throat and busied his hands with nothing. He said, “I see you kept everyone in line while I was gone.”

“Did my best, sir,” Cody said, before he took a bracing breath, settling his shoulders as he would to go into battle. “Word about your… your condition is spreading around the ship.”

Obi-Wan reorganized his datapads once more, shuffling them into a fine mess. “I figured it might.”

Cody nodded, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “The men… we don’t know how—we don’t really have experience. In this area. With babies. And such. But we’d, that is, we want to help, sir, if we can figure out how. Is this going to go better or worse for you, if they know whose it is?”

Obi-Wan abandoned the datapads in the middle of that spiel. He turned and crossed his arms, fighting the rush of embarrassment in his bones. How had he gotten into his situation, exactly? “For me? It’s hard to say, but I doubt it will change anything.”

“For your partner, then?”

Obi-Wan wondered how they’d gotten to this point. He wished they could go back away from it, as quickly as possible. There seemed to be no way to escape the situation. “It could be… difficult for him. If the knowledge got out.”

Cody grunted. “But it wouldn’t be if it were one of us.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, not sure he was following. “But it wasn’t.”

Cody shrugged. “Who's to know?” He grinned, small, at Obi-Wan’s expression. “I’m just letting you know, sir, if you need a name to give, well, I’d be happy to offer mine. If it helps.”

The offer came as a surprise—he’d thought the madness of Circindia had passed them all by, though he should have known it had not. It dogged them all, unable to be buried, not while he carried a reminder of it with him everywhere. At least Cody had not swayed dangerously close. They maintained a safe distance from one another, even as Cody offered to, what legitimize his child-in-potentia? He looked terribly earnest about the prospect, too.

“Thank you… Cody.” It felt far too awkward to call him by his rank as they discussed the idea of allowing him to claim Obi-Wan’s child, though using his chosen name felt nearly as strange. “I will… take your offer into consideration.” Perhaps it would be for the best, if he had to name _someone_ as the other parent. He planned to avoid it, if that was at all possible. The strategy had worked with Count Dooku, anyway, and surely the Council would not question him any more vigorously than the Count.

Cody nodded. “Alright. Let us know when there’s… anything else we can do.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked, as Cody reached the door, before he could swallow the question. “Why are you offering me so much aid?”

Cody paused, glancing at the floor as his brow furrowed. “Well,” he said, shaping the words carefully, “you’re ours, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan froze, the possessive term drawing up all kinds of memories and emotions, and Cody looked at him, then, with the expression of confusion that the troopers sometimes wore when faced with a situation or a question they simply weren’t equipped by experience to understand. It appeared less and less, as they grew more knowledgeable about the galaxy, along with all the wonders and horrors it contained. Obi-Wan stared back at him, open-mouthed.

“I mean.” Cody sighed, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “It feels obvious to us.  Maybe it would to you, if they didn’t keep you on those kriffing drugs. But you’re _our_ general. You’re _our_ Jedi. You’re _our_ omega. You take care of us. We take care of you. Just… just how it ought to be, sir. And as for my offer? Well.” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be a lie. Not really. Whoever else’s the kid might be, it’ll be ours, too.”

And he left, before Obi-Wan could formulate any kind of response at all, leaving Obi-Wan even more confused than he had felt before the visit

#

The Senate Chamber buzzed with anxiety, with every voice seeming too loud as the Senators huddled together, wearing a thousand signs of fear on their varied features. Padme watched from her box, pursing her lips and wishing, distantly, that she could be up in orbit with a blaster, doing something, _anything_ , to push back the invaders, rather than sitting in this opulent chamber and listening to fools argue about how best to save their own skins. She glanced across at Duchess Satine, currently sharing her box and surveying the rest of the panicking Senate with chilly intensity.

“We should evacuate immediately,” one of the Senators said, finally rising above the din of the chamber. “It was foolish to call this meeting.  Staying puts us all at great—”

The uproar swallowed the rest of his words. Padme met Senator Organa’s gaze across the room and found him as grim-faced as she had ever seen him. She moved to speak—surely they could determine the best course of action, if everyone would only be quiet and calm, but there was no way to speak above the tremendous clamor of voices.

“Order!” The Chancellor demanded, finally, his hands folded beneath his robes. “We must have order, my dear people. Now,” he said, once the room quieted to a reasonable level. “While I cannot forbid anyone from seeking _safety_ —”

Just like that, the room was in an uproar again. Padme ground her jaw together, disbelieving. Surely they had to realize what the effect would be if they fled? The citizens of Coruscant would be thrown into a mad panic. It would be a declaration of no-faith in the fleets protecting them. Such an action could break the tenuous trust in the Republic armies. But her will alone seemed not enough to quiet them.

Beside her, Satine exhaled sharply through her nose and stood, snapping, “Silence!” The shock of the order won the room, for at least a moment, as heads turned to stare. It would only last a second, Padme knew, before the room at large seized on the impropriety of the shout as a new thing to yell about. She grabbed that moment, while it lasted.

“My fellow Senators, above us the Republic Fleets face this cowardly attack and stand as a shield in front of us. I know well that you all have utmost faith in their abilities.” And sometimes the lies she had to shape in her position tried to tie her tongue into knots, but she shaped them nevertheless. They were the weapons she currently had access to. “So let us discuss what can be done, here, to ensure a faster victory.”

Silence continued to reign for a moment, before the Chancellor cleared his throat. “Well said, Senator Amidala,” he said, with a look in her direction that she could not read. “Perhaps…”

The day passed into true morning before they exited the chamber, with little settled. Padme’s mind buzzed with words and her eyes burned from the sleepless night. She drew to a stop on the walkway outside the Senate Complex, glancing up at the sky, though the battle took place too high in the atmosphere to be seen.

She wondered how many had died already. How many more would yet die, before the battle—the war—ended.

“You spoke well,” Satine said, lightly touching Padme’s arm.

Padme sighed. “I only hope it was well enough.”

Satine hummed. “Come,” she said. “You need to rest.”

#

The thing about hyperspace travel was that it left you with entirely too much time to think. Anakin stewed over the twisting thoughts in his head until he couldn’t take it any longer, despite his promise to wait for Obi-Wan to think about things. The pressure was simply too heavy, as they drew closer and closer to the battle over Coruscant, and everything they might face on that planet. He went to track down Obi-Wan after three day-cycles, knowing it was a bad idea, even as he did. Obi-Wan was generating enough raw confusion to power the entirety of the cruiser, if they could only harness it.

Anakin found him in one of the training rooms, bare to the waist, going through katas slowly, a fine sheen of sweat covering his skin. Anakin watched from the doorway for a moment, for longer than he should have, really, until Obi-Wan asked, “Something you needed?”

Anakin bit his tongue against a truthful answer and walked into the room, selecting one of the practice sabers. “I was thinking about Coruscant,” he admitted, going through a stretch sequence while Obi-Wan flowed from one form to the next. “We’ll have to see the Council while we’re there.”

Obi-Wan sighed, hissing a little and rolling one shoulder, where the worst of the burns had nearly healed. “I was going to have to see them sooner or later, Anakin. I can’t very well disappear for nine months. Someone would notice eventually. ” He moved into a defensive posture and beckoned to Anakin.

Anakin recoiled. “I’m not going to fight you.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “It’s called training. Surely you remember it?”

Anakin started to decline again—what if something happened, what if he hurt Obi-Wan, what if what if what if—but he trusted Obi-Wan to know his own limits. So he snorted and fell into a matching position, promising himself that this time he would wait for Obi-Wan to break and attack first. Anakin lasted a moment, perhaps two, staring at Obi-Wan’s patient defense, and then gave in. The practice sabers met with a faint sizzle as they wove around one another, moving in the familiar patterns of one of their favorite katas, finishing a warm-up before they began practicing in earnest.

“What are we going to tell the Council?” he asked, eventually, as Obi-Wan tried to sweep his legs. The question had drawn him there in the first place, and it refused to give him a moment’s peace. Anakin flipped back and leapt again as Obi-Wan spun after him, almost landing a touch against Obi-Wan’s ribs.

“ _We_ don’t need to tell them anything,” Obi-Wan said, bending back to avoid a strike, twisting, aiming a kick for Anakin’s ribs in mid-air. He spoke easily enough, but he was frowning. “They don’t need to know exactly how involved you were with what happened on Circindia.”

Anakin scowled, pressing the attack. “What if I want them to?”

Obi-Wan barked a laugh. “Do you?” he asked. “Do you want to be disciplined—sent to meditate somewhere calm and peaceful for months? Or worse? You could be dismissed from the Order.”

“Maybe that would be for the best,” he said, and, even as he said it knew it to be nothing but the product of mad frustration.

Obi-Wan stopped, then, going totally still and staring. His stillness made the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his ribs even more obvious. Anakin resisted staring at it, or at least he tried. Obi-Wan stared like he was rifling through Anakin’s thoughts and then said, quiet and deathly calm, “You don’t mean that.”

Anakin tossed the sparring saber across the room and dragged a hand back through his hair. He paced forward. “Are you sure?”

Obi-Wan snorted, half-laughing. “Yes. Yes—you want to be on the Council, Anakin! You want to be made a Master, or have you forgotten?” The maddening part was that he spoke truly. Anakin wanted to be a Master, he needed a seat on the Council. It was the only way to change things, to make things better in the Order, in the Republic, in the galaxy as a whole. He knew that and couldn’t give it up. _But_.

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, half-naked and with his skin all flushed. Anakin’s voice came out thick when he said, “There are other things I want, too.”

He watched Obi-Wan’s blush spread down his chest. He stepped forward, drawn to the expanse of bare skin, and Obi-Wan’s lips parted. Anakin touched his waist, leaned down, and Obi-Wan jerked his head to the side, Anakin’s lips brushing his cheek instead of his mouth. “Tell me this doesn’t feel right,” Anakin murmured, nosing up into Obi-Wan’s hair, feeling him shiver, listening to his breath quicken. “Tell me you don’t want this, too.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers closed spastically on his arm. He made a soft, delicious sound when Anakin curled an arm around him, pulling him closer. “I—”

“We can have this,” Anakin kissed the skin below Obi-Wan’s ear. He remembered the way Obi-Wan liked to be kissed, to be touched. His fingertips dipped below the waistband of Obi-Wan’s practice leggings. Obi-Wan’s grip tightened. “What the Council doesn’t know won’t hurt them. We can—”

“General Kenobi, we have—my apologies, sir. Am I interrupting?” Sithspit! Anakin hadn’t even heard the door open. He scowled, wishing ill on the trooper who had chosen the most inopportune moment to deliver a message, even as Obi-Wan slid from his grasp, his hair in disarray, his skin still flushed.

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan said, his voice rough, and he left without looking over his shoulder. Through the Force, he felt less confused, but not in the way Anakin had hoped. His emotions held a sharp edge, not upset, not _exactly_ , but… Something.

It had been a mistake, but Anakin had known that before he ever approached. He should have given Obi-Wan the time he said he would, but, Force, he was so hard to stay away from.

#

The holonets called it the Siege of Coruscant, a cold and fancy name for a battle being waged so close to them, and exerting such an effect on the planet. The economic market had suffered a near collapse since the Separatist fleet appeared to harry them. Looting became a tremendous problem, as the tension twisted the population harder and harder. Riots broke out, and protests, including one outside the Senate Complex on the seventh day of the Siege.

Padme stared out of her transport at the masses gathered in front of the complex, a mix of the old and the young, the wealthy and the poor. They all looked exhausted, frightened, furious. Food and water were already growing hard to come by; Coruscant produced little and consumed so much. She did not see any weapons, but that meant little. Vibroblades and blasters were easy to conceal.

“Will you speak with them?” Satine asked, glancing over her shoulder at the crowd. They filled the entirety of the pathway up to the Complex, packed shoulder to shoulder and restlessly milling against one another. A line of troopers stood between the mob and the Senate proper, their white armor gleaming in the sun. Padme rested her hand against the window.

She’d protested the placement of troopers outside the Senate, when the protesters began appearing, days ago. The troopers were, in her experience, good men—or at least they were no worse than any other men she had ever met. But they were born and trained to fight. To see enemies and to neutralize them. The thought of them facing off against a crowd of angry civilians had given Padme horrible nightmares, the past two nights.

“I think that would only make it worse.” What could she tell them? That the Senate knew little more than they did? That every day the death tolls grew higher? That the Republic forces held the line, for the moment? She would only provide them with a flashpoint to direct their anger, unless she had something solid and worthwhile to offer them. Perhaps she would, soon. After all, the current meeting had been called to discuss how best to approach diplomatic communication with the Separatist fleet overhead, finally.

They landed beyond the reach of the crowd and filed into the complex with the rest of the Senators, a mob of their own, just as anxious as the one outside the walls.

The meeting drew to order fitfully, in an atmosphere that stank of fear. Padme looked across the assembled mass and realized, then, how close to beaten they already were, without the Separatists ever landing a single ship on the planet. _You are all cowards_ , she thought, the words far too un-diplomatic to ever be spoken aloud, _cowards who sent untold soldiers to their deaths for years while you sat back here, secure in the knowledge that you would be safe. And now, when the consequences come for you, you fall apart._

The Chancellor cleared his throat, spreading his hands to call for order, and Padme thought, treacherous and painfully clear, _And you are the worst of them_. “My people,” he started, and then stopped, when a Twi’lek aide ran into the chamber, her color terrible and her expression frozen into horror.

She blurted, “The Separatists! They’ve broken through the lines! They’re everywhere! They’ve attacked the Jedi Temple! And—”

And a blaster bolt caught her between the shoulders, cutting her down.

Panic moved through the chamber like a ravenous beast, catching them all in its terrible teeth. Senators screamed. The ones closest to the hall leapt from their boxes and fled. More blaster shots echoed through the room, turning them to corpses.

Padme could hear the clicking steps of battle droids. She reached out and found Satine’s hand, without thinking about it.

#

The last of the Council’s transmissions came moments before they were due to drop out of hyperspace. Master Mundi alone appeared, his holographic form trembling, his signal disrupted by the Separatist blockade. His transmission broke up into puzzle pieces that had to be fitted together. “—eral Kenobi desperately—landing party arrived at—fighting has moved into the main—attack on the Sen—I repeat, we need—”

And then it failed completely. The troopers around the room looked grim. Anakin mimicked the expression, staring at the flotilla around the planet with his arms crossed. Obi-Wan glanced at him. He looked exhausted, as though he had not slept since their encounter in the sparring room, days ago. Obi-Wan had found ways to avoid him since, uneasy about Anakin’s proposals and his own reaction to Anakin’s touch. They had not even been in the same room together, since then. Anakin asked, “Are they mad enough to attack the Senate?”

“I think we have to assume they are.” Obi-Wan shook aside his thoughts and pulled up schematics for the gigantic complex, scowling. “And if they have, we’ll have to punch through the blockade and get down to the surface as quickly as we can.”

“We can get you through,” Cody said. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Good. We’ll take a squadron of fighters down to the surface.” And they had little time to board them. His heart already sped up in preparation for the coming fight. “Come along, Anakin.”

Anakin was scowling when they stepped into the lift, but he held his tongue until Rex and Ahsoka rushed out, hurrying to their ships. Then Anakin grabbed his arm. It was the first time they had touched in days. It still sent a treacherous shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine. He suppressed it as Anakin said, quietly, “I’m not sure you should be coming along.”

Obi-Wan blinked up at him. “Why ever not?”

Discomfort twisted Anakin’s face up. “With your condition...” He trailed off when Obi-Wan laughed.

“Be serious, Anakin.”

“I am.” And he was, Obi-Wan saw. He looked tense and miserable and he had not relaxed his grip in the slightest. “If something happened…”

“Something can always happen.”

“I know! If you would just stay here—”

“Do you imagine I will be safer here? We’ve lost plenty of cruisers, and there’s an armada out there,” Obi-Wan pointed out, and Anakin’s color grew even worse. Obi-Wan softened his tone. “There are trillions of people on that planet, Anakin, counting on us. You and Ahsoka cannot face Count Dooku on your own—no,” he snapped, when Anakin opened his mouth to protest. “You cannot. Not with Grievous around somewhere as well. We must do everything in our power to defeat them. One person’s well-being does not compare to everything that is at stake.”

Anakin stared at him as though he would disagree with every word, but eventually he nodded and slid his hand down Obi-Wan’s arm, tangling their fingers together and squeezing, for just a moment. It felt… good. Better than it should have. He did not try to steal a kiss, and Obi-Wan relaxed, slightly. “Just be careful, then, alright?”

Obi-Wan looked into the earnest, naked worry in Anakin’s face and managed a pale smile. “I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do,” he promised, and Anakin scowled, opening his mouth.

“Masters!” Ahsoka yelled, from further in the hanger. “It’s time to go!”

#

The world went mad, the way it always did on a battlefield, in Padme’s experience. Senators pushed and shoved at one another, voices raised in panic, even as the Chancellor’s guards tried to hurry him from the chamber. Droids marched forward and then, leaping over them, came the mechanical horror that called himself General Grievous. Padme had never seen him before, but he was instantly recognizable, if only by the four lightsabers he held, ignited, in his many hands.

He laughed, a terrible, hacking sound, and then ordered, “You will all be still! Now! Or you will all die!” The Senators froze, then, staring at the blasters and the droids. “Good,” Grievous wheezed. And he pointed one of his sabers up towards the Chancellor’s box. “There is your prize,” he snarled, speaking to a dark-hooded figure striding down the hall behind him, full of cruel purpose. Count Dooku. Padme recognized _him_ , at least. It was hard to forget the bearing of a man who had watched you chained to a pillar, to be murdered by a terrible beast.

The Count stopped beside Grievous and pushed back his hood. He looked regal and terrible, his hair and beard neatly trimmed, his eyes dead, like those of some terrible reptilian creature. He looked up and said, “Chancellor, how wonderful to finally meet you. I would beg a moment of your time. We have, I believe, much to discuss.” And he leapt, the Force propelling him upward, to the Chancellor’s box. He grabbed the front of Palpatine’s robes and—

—and blaster fire cut through the air, from down the hall, away from the Senate chamber. Someone yelled, anyway, even as the droids turned hurriedly around, firing down the hall. Padme caught a flash of white armor through the blaster bolts—Troopers! Perhaps the men from outside!—and a desperate spasm of hope squeezed her chest. She whipped back around, looking for the Dooku, but he had gone, stealing the Chancellor away in the scant moment she had been distracted.

Padme swore as the troopers cut down droid after droid. They would not know about Dooku. She could not allow them to engage Grievous. He would kill them all. She had read the reports about his prowess and she saw no lightsabers among the troopers. They’d come with no Jedi to face the monstrous General. Dooku could not be allowed to make off with the Chancellor. Who knew the harm he would do? But if Grievous were left here, unchallenged, he could kill so many…

Padme could not save everyone, she realized, the knowledge cold and terrible in her chest. She hesitated, one hand on the side of her Senate box, ready to leap, held back by sudden doubt. “Go,” Satine said, squeezing her arm and nodding at the troopers. “Tell them what happened. I will manage this mess.”

Padme stared at her, too many emotions racing through her mind to name a single one. Satine looked as indomitable and cold as a glacier, her icy gaze fixed on Grievous.

Padme nodded grimly, pulled her headdress off, tossed it to the side, and grabbed Satine, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek—quite unintentionally. “Forget him! Get out of here!” she ordered, and then she leapt out of her box, onto the one below, and the one below, making her way towards the hall as quickly as she could. She would have liked to keep Satine by her side, but taking a pacifist on a rescue mission doomed to include plenty of violence would not be in anyone’s best interests.

One of the troopers nearly shot her when she dropped into their midst, his nearest squad-mate pushing the blaster to the side at the last second. She nodded at them in greeting, grabbed the edge of her gown and ripped—it just wasn’t offering her the freedom of movement she needed—and ordered, “Follow me! Count Dooku has taken the Chancellor!”

#

Smoke filled the air above the Senate complex. The droids had been busy; artillery was already set up on the surrounding buildings, and they opened fire on Anakin’s fighter as he darted towards the Senate. He heard Ahsoka cry out victoriously when she took one of the big guns out. The journey through the blockade was nothing but a blur, already fading into memory.

Cody had been as good as his word, punching through Separatist ships with sheer, vicious bloody-mindedness, getting them close enough to drop into the atmosphere where enemy fighters dogged them, chasing them around the gigantic buildings. Anakin slid his fighter into one of the Senate’s hangers, finding the open space busy with battle droids. He popped the cockpit and leaped out as the ship continued on, towards the back wall, crushing a dozen droids on its journey. Obi-Wan landed a moment later, flipping from his fighter, crouching, his lightsaber already drawn. Anakin wrinkled his nose, breathing in a foul taste on the air. “You feel that?”

“Mm.” Obi-Wan was already moving, heading towards the Senate proper. Ahsoka jumped down to join them, followed by the squad of troopers that had accompanied them. Most of them had made it through the crucible to the planet’s surface. “The Dark side is thick here. Dooku must be close.”

Anakin felt a surge of satisfaction at the thought. He had business to settle with the Count, and fully intended to take his pound of flesh.

“Where _is_ everyone?” Ahsoka whispered, as they crept along a hallway, the thick carpeting swallowing their footsteps. Blaster marks marred the walls, here and there. And there were bodies, richly dressed and at least passingly familiar. Senators.

“I think…” Obi-Wan had his head tilted to one side, a little furrow between his brows. “They must be in the main chamber. I sense a tremendous amount of fear from that direction.” He blinked a few times in rapid succession, and glanced upwards, towards the floors that contained the individual offices for each Senator. “But the Sith signature is above us. Several levels up.”

“We’ll have to split up,” Ahsoka said, and she looked nearly as unhappy about it as Anakin felt, but even he could see no better way forward. They could not stand by and let the Senators get slaughtered—Padme was most likely among them. And they could not allow a Sith to wander around the halls freely. Besides, the Sith had to be Dooku. If Anakin could keep Obi-Wan away from him, well. All the better. He nodded.

“Ahsoka and I will check out the Sith presence, even I can feel it. The rest of you, go with General Kenobi. I’d bet a thousand credits Grievous is terrorizing the Senators. It’d be just his style.” He caught Obi-Wan’s arm as their groups split apart, full of so much worry that he could barely speak around it. “Comm if there is _any_ problem at all, alright? Promise me.”

Obi-Wan stared and his expression softened, after a moment, in a way that Anakin had worried it never would after their meeting in the training hall. It had been so difficult, staying away from Obi-Wan the last few days, but he’d obviously wanted the space, and Anakin so badly wanted to give him what he desired. “We will both do what we must,” he said. “May the Force be with you.”

“And you,” Anakin ground out, watching Obi-Wan charge off with shards of ice in his gut.

#

The main Senate Chamber was always impressive and threatening in its immensity. It was no less so when filled with panicking Senators, huddling and scrambling among the boxes, while Grievous held court over them all. The mechanical monster stood, perched atop the Chancellor’s box, two lightsabers drawn. Senators either injured or dead either lay abandoned around the room, or were pulled along by their friends.

And standing in front of Grievous, preventing him from charging towards a group of panicking politicians, was a familiar woman. Satine had drawn up to her full height, augmented by her tremendous headdress, and glared along the line of her nose with her icy eyes. “This behavior is completely unacceptable,” she snapped, and Obi-Wan could see that, for a moment, the sheer shock of her defiance drew Grievous up short. It would not last, of course. The monster had faced plenty of defiance before, and Satine would not support her words with a well-placed blaster bolt.

But, for a few seconds at least, she stood in front of certain death, stopped it, and, more importantly, distracted it.

Obi-Wan gestured the troopers into place, drew on the Force, and dedicated a single thought to Anakin and Ahsoka’s safety. Then Grievous sputtered at Satine, preparing to take off her head, and Obi-Wan leapt.

Grievous turned, at the last moment, sensing movement in the air, perhaps, but it was too late by then. He roared when Obi-Wan’s lightsaber connected with something under that bulky cloak, resulting in an explosion of sparks. “Duchess,” Obi-Wan greeted, lifting her with the Force and tossing her back towards the Senators, away from Grievous’ immediate reach. He jumped out of the way of Grievous’ return blow, grinning grimly when the troopers opened fire, continuing, “How wonderful to see you again. Get these people out of here, won’t you?” Force knew they weren’t seizing on the opportunity to escape on their own.

“Obi-Wan!” she called, even as she began herding the Senators into some kind of order, her voice clear and strong as Obi-Wan fended off a flurry of blows, keeping Grievous busy while the troopers took careful shots at the monster’s flanks. “There was another, a Sith! He took the Chancellor and left. Senator Amidala pursued him.”

Obi-Wan grinned, even as worry for his friend tinged in his chest. “Of course she did,” he shouted back. He threw one of the Senate boxes at Grievous’ head, and the General hacked at it madly, snarling. “Now go!”

“You were a fool to come here, Jedi,” Grievous spat, following him across the chamber and away from the civilians. They came together, over and over again, exchanging blows before Obi-Wan leapt to a new position, opening the General to pot-shots that, eventually, blew off one of his arms.

Grievous screamed and attacked with renewed fury, his sabers a humming blur of three colors. The box they fought on wobbled alarmingly, and Obi-Wan slipped, stopping a blow an inch away from his eye. Grievous pushed, all of his weight behind the saber, and snarled, “I will carve into your gut and pull out your womb.”

Obi-Wan shoved one of Grievous’ legs, and, as the creature’s eye widened with surprise, he took off a second arm. “I really don’t think it would suit you,” he said.

A blaster bolt hit the back of Grievous’ head and ricocheted off, joined by a half-dozen more in second. The general wheezed, seeming to realize for the first time that the room had emptied of his prisoners. Obi-Wan flashed his teeth and pressed the advantage, now that he had no more civilians to worry about. Grievous’ attacks grew desperate, then, crazed as the troopers pursued him around the chamber, thwarting each effort for escape. He cried out in fury, turning his attention to the troopers, perhaps determined to kill something, and struck down one of the men before Obi-Wan managed to intercept him, taking off one of his legs at the knee.

It was over, then, for all that they still traded blows. Too much blood, or, perhaps more accurately, oil was spilled, and Obi-Wan tasted death on the air, something almost like a premonition aiming his strikes. The General’s reign of terror would end, finally, and Obi-Wan twirled his saber, preparing for a final attack, when half of the chamber blew up.

The explosion threw him sideways, into a damaged Senate box that he clung to while smoke filled the air and hot debris rained down over them. Grievous would flee in the aftermath of the bombing, Obi-Wan knew, and he ordered, “Follow him!” even as the _other_ half of the chamber exploded.

#

Anakin and Ahsoka raced through the halls of the Senate, led by the miasma of the Dark side that soured the air, and, as they ascended levels, by the sound of blaster fire.

“The guards must be putting up a fight,” Ahsoka said, grinning with a pleasure that looked near feral.

“Let’s not let them have all the fun.”

The power of the Dark side, and the blaster fire, was centered on the Chancellor’s floor, Anakin realized as they climbed. But that only made sense. Who else would Dooku risk such a mad attack for?

They burst into a hall to find a dozen clone troopers laying down fire into the Chancellor’s rooms, and, standing among them, with her heavy gown torn up the sides to facilitate movement and a blaster in each hand, Padme. A hot wash of joy flooded Anakin’s chest, even if only briefly, and he demanded, “Report!”

Padme grinned wildly at his voice, without ever taking her eyes off the target. “Count Dooku is inside,” she yelled back. “We have troopers on the balcony, barring his way, but—”

She cut off then, her eyes widening with horror, and Anakin could guess what had just happened to those troopers. “Ahsoka, with me,” he ordered, leaping over Padme’s head and into the room.

The chamber’s walls were covered with blaster marks, now. Most of the furniture had been destroyed. And Dooku stood by the balcony, outlined by all the lights of Coruscant, forcing the Chancellor along. Anakin scowled, moving forward while Ahsoka flanked around to the side, their lightsabers matching flames of green. “Let him go. Right now.”

Count Dooku sneered, “You dare challenge me, boy?”

“You should surrender,” Ahsoka said, her sabers up in the guard she’d been learning from Obi-Wan. “Your plan failed.”

The Count smiled. He looked like a snake. “You know nothing of my plans, child.” And he ignited his saber, swinging for the Chancellor’s neck. Anakin pushed the Chancellor out of the way from across the room, grimacing when the old man’s body hit a wall. Still, better a broken rib or two than decapitation. Dooku pivoted, moving to complete the job, but Ahsoka was in his way by then, her sabers flashing and hissing as she turned aside blows. Anakin leapt for Dooku’s back, ordering Palpatine, “Get out of here, now!” The old man moved along the wall, towards the exit, but so slowly.

Anakin couldn’t pay him any further attention. The fight with Dooku took all of his attention, especially because the kriffing asshole seemed determined to focus on Ahsoka. Concern for his Padawan forced him on the defensive, when he wanted to attack, and he wondered, fleetingly, if this was how Obi-Wan had felt on Geonosis, when Anakin charged in madly against the Sith.

Sweat dripped into his eyes as the fight wore on. His muscles burned and he could see Ahsoka flagging. And then the Count deflected one of the blaster bolts ostensibly fired to assist them right into her hip. She yelled out, the leg giving, her guard dropping, and Dooku roared in triumph. He sliced out, and Anakin thought for sure he would take off her head, but she jerked backwards at the last moment, the red blade slicing through one of her lekku, instead. Dooku snarled, thwarted, and reached one hand out. He pulled down a section of the wall onto her, pinning her to the floor. Anakin yelled, some wordless sound, and leapt forward to protect her. And the Count waved a hand and threw him, unceremoniously, out through the new hole in the wall.

#

The Senate box Obi-Wan held plummeted like a rock and he jumped out away from it, landing in a crouch as other boxes rained from the sky. Someone wearing familiar trooper armor—Rex—tackled him nearly as soon as he landed, pushing him forward and out of the way of the enormous boxes crashing to the ground. Other hands pulled him up and, together, they scrambled madly from the collapsing room.

“Did the Senators all make it out?” he asked, too loud, his ears still ringing from the explosion.

“I think so, sir. But so did Grievous.”

Obi-Wan dragged his forearm across his sweaty brow. “He can’t have gone far. We’ll—”

—a wave of mad emotion crashed into him, panic and fury, and Ahsoka’s face, twisted in pain, and the smell of lightning, the rush of wind against his face, the terrible pull of gravity, freefall—

Obi-Wan turned without the need for thought, pulled forward by the raw panic in his head, terribly familiar and not his own. He heard the troopers yell questions at his back, but had no time to answer them. He ran _back_ into the Senate chamber. It had mostly finished collapsing, tearing holes open in the higher levels, convenient, because, right at that moment, he was needed up above. He leapt on crumbling masonry, metal and stone collapsing under his hands and feet, moving from one precarious perch to the next, higher and higher, until he reached the place that felt correct.

Troopers jerked towards him in surprise when he jumped into the hall, blasters whining but unfired when they recognized him. Padme shot him a look, her hair come all undone, her expression frozen into horror, and he dashed past her, drawing deeply on the Force to move even faster.

It had been only seconds since he felt the hot flood of Anakin’s terror filling up his head, something he would have to consider more carefully later.

At that moment, Dooku stood in the center of the Chancellor’s rooms, hand extended down, blue light dancing around his fingers. Ahsoka lay at his feet, under half of a wall, jerking with the aftereffects of the first wave of Force lightning. The Chancellor stood in one corner of the room, watching. Of Anakin, there was no sign. The air smelled like lightning. Obi-Wan jumped forward.

#

Anakin hung over empty air for a moment, nothing between his body and the ground but several miles of empty space. He turned in the middle of his free-fall and reached for the hole in the wall with the Force, pulling himself back. Ahsoka—he had to get to Ahsoka. He closed his mechanical hand around crumbling masonry, flipped over it, and rolled into the room a second too late to do anything. Dooku unleashed lightning, all of its terrible power focused on Ahsoka’s upturned face, and—

Obi-Wan caught the sparking blue-white power with the blade of his saber, his face twisting into a rictus of terrible effort when Dooku roared in anger and redoubled the power.

Relief made Anakin’s heart stutter, but he had no time for it. The advantage, such as it was, had to be pressed, immediately. He leapt forward, aiming for Dooku’s arm, and the Sith snarled, turning at the last moment to block him, the Force-lightning dissipating into nothing. Anakin scowled, pressing the attack, joined a second later by Obi-Wan. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Padme dart into the room and over to Ahsoka, where she tried to lift away the rubble, joined by a handful of troopers. “How are the Senators?” he asked, driving Dooku back, away from all the other targets suddenly in the room.

“Taken care of,” Obi-Wan panted back, and they fell into the rhythm of the fight.

They dodged lightning and strikes, pushed with the Force, fought hard, until Dooku snarled, “Enough of this foolishness.” He reached out, then, and grasped empty air, squeezing. Anakin blinked, confused for a moment. And then Obi-Wan choked, scrambling at the air around his throat.

Anakin’s vision went near-white with panicked rage. He stormed forward, and Dooku sneered at him, “Put down your saber and surrender, now, or I _will_ kill—”

Anakin batted aside the lightsaber strike meant to hold him off, and the next, and saw the Count’s eyes widen. In his mind, he saw the marks that Dooku had left on Obi-Wan’s flesh. He saw the Sith torturing him, endangering _everything_ Anakin had. He heard Obi-Wan gurgle. And he took off Dooku’s hand, the one that dared try to take Obi-Wan away from him. The Count cried out, recoiling in shock and pain, not quickly enough.

Anakin grabbed him, wrapping mechanical fingers around _his_ hated neck and squeezing, continuing his grim walk forward, until he shoved Dooku against a wall and was forced to stop.

Fear shone in Dooku’s eyes. And he _should_ have been afraid. Anakin remembered the burns on Obi-Wan’s skin too well, remembered the way he’d been delirious with fever. It was _right_ that Dooku fear Anakin, because Anakin was going to choke the life from him, just as he deserved. He pressed harder, the Count’s face growing red. Dooku shoved and beat at him with the Force, but Anakin pushed the efforts aside as though they were nothing but a light breeze, furious—no, he’d moved beyond fury, into something so incandescently pure it had no name. Dooku’s eyes bulged. His cheeks turned purple.

And Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin’s wrist, and snapped, “Anakin, I said _stop_.”

Sound flooded back into Anakin’s world as he sucked in a breath. He heard, suddenly, Padme. She was yelling at him. Ahsoka was pleading with him to stop. He blinked, disoriented, taking in Obi-Wan’s reddened face, the marks around his neck, the intensity in his eyes. He lived. He lived, he was alright. Obi-Wan reached out and curled his hand against Anakin’s cheek, and asked, “Are you with me now? Can you hear me?”

Anakin swallowed jerkily, leaning helplessly into Obi-Wan’s touch. “I hear you,” he rasped. “I’m with you.” Of course he was. He would always be. He could not imagine being any other way.

Obi-Wan smiled and it looked tired and relieved. He put his other hand on Anakin’s head, stroking over his hair. “Good,” he said, “ _Good_ , that’s—let him go, now, Anakin. It’s enough.”

Anakin had forgotten about Dooku, still suffocating at the end of his arm. He released his grip—Obi-Wan wanted him to, and his own thoughts were a buzzing mess, too hot and confusing to be understood or trusted. Dooku fell, and troopers swarmed him immediately. Dooku didn’t fight them. Anakin was not _entirely_ sure he was breathing. He reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan, unthinking, and Obi-Wan smiled at him, exhausted and beautiful. Anakin pulled him close, wrapping him tight, needing, in that moment, an anchor, something to hold him in place in this bay of peacefulness, away from the ocean of fizzing white anger that still hummed in the corners of his thoughts.

Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, and then returned the embrace, asking, so softly only Anakin would be able to hear it, “Anakin? Are you alright?”

Anakin closed his eyes and breathed out, sinking back into his aching body and tired bones. Obi-Wan was real and solid and alive. Anakin could feel their child. The last of the white rage guttered out and left him feeling like himself, once more. He said, “I think I am now.”

#

Anakin sagged in his arms, trembling slightly, as though he had been wrung out. He smelled of sweat and burnt skin. Obi-Wan held him up, watching the troopers bundle up Dooku’s still form, dragging him from the room. His face was slack, but he still breathed, regardless of the deep marks on his throat.

Obi-Wan shuddered. Anakin had radiated such fury as he strangled the Count, the emotion had been so strong and deep that it had seeped into the room, into every mind, even Obi-Wan’s, and he’d barely been able to release it into the Force enough to think clearly. And Anakin had not seemed to hear them, when they yelled for him to stop. Obi-Wan had grabbed him, not knowing what else to do to—he was not sure what he would have attempted next, if that had not reached Anakin in whatever distant place his mind had retreated to.

It had been frightening, seeing Anakin go… somewhere else, somewhere unreachable.

He tightened his grip, and someone cleared their throat from behind him.

Anakin stiffened immediately, pushing Obi-Wan back and to the side, as though they had not just fought beside one another. Obi-Wan took in what remained of the opulent rooms. One wall was missing. The rest of the squad that had accompanied Obi-Wan had arrived, finally making their way up from the main chamber. Rex was trying to get Ahsoka to stay still, worry making him shout orders louder than usual. She looked odd. It took Obi-Wan a moment to realize that her left lekku had been sliced off cleanly at her chin.

The Chancellor stood before them, leaning heavily on Padme’s arm. He looked like a frightened old man, but… he did not _feel_ that way. Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side, frowning, and Padme spoke, distracting him before he could put a name to the emotions he felt from the Chancellor, “The Senate is secure, or will be. But…” She looked to the side, then, out the huge windows, at Coruscant beyond. “We heard there was an attack on the Temple, as well, and—”

#

The attack on the Temple did not come as a surprise, and perhaps it would not have, no matter what. After all, with a Separatist fleet in orbit, daring to strike so far into the heart of the Republic, no location was safe. Especially not the home of the Jedi, who led the Republic’s war effort. They had been preparing since the Separatist ships first dropped out of hyperspace, as best they could, with so many of their best and strongest out in the field, or already dead from the full course of the terrible war.

So, the Jedi expected some form of attack, even before Master Unduli contacted the Council, her expression grave and heavy when she said, “You must make ready immediately. A force has just been dispatched from the Separatist fleet to attack the Temple.”

Chatter broke out among the members of the Council who remained on Coruscant. Yoda listened to it with half an ear and leaned forward. “Know this, how do you?” he asked, as Master Windu strode forward, his robes billowing as he went to prepare for battle. He would lead their forces, and Yoda had no doubt he would rise marvelously to the occasion.

Master Unduli controlled her expression perfectly, only a slight tightening of the skin around her eyes betraying that anything was amiss. “My—I...the Force Well revealed a glimpse of the Separatists’ battle plans.”

“To whom?” Master Mundi asked, his attention drawn back suddenly to the conversation.

Yoda watched Unduli’s face as she suppressed emotions, warring internally over some decision. And Yoda was not without his own prescience. He felt the possible branches of the future stretching out from that moment, and they spread like a hard frost inside of him. They had not the time to allow her to grapple with whatever conflict she faced. “Important now, it is not. Prepare, we must. Our gratitude you have, Master Unduli.”

She looked grateful, in the seconds before she hurriedly ended the transmission. Her warning gave them a few moments to prepare that they would not have otherwise had. Yoda was not sure it mattered. The Separatists hit them with innumerable droids, determined to make the attack count, no matter how many losses they suffered in return. Yoda stood at the front, cutting down machine after machine, but there were so few Jedi in the Temple these days, save the younglings and the injured.

They could not hold the line, he realized, as they fell back.

The droids seemed endless, and with so many of them it mattered little that they were idiotic machines. Sheer numbers would bury the Jedi, eventually. Even as Yoda realized it, a knight fell under a hail of blaster fire, his lightsaber rolling from his hand, and Yoda saw a terrible glimpse of the future—the halls of the Temple ran with blood, Jedi lay broken and carved to pieces, the younglings were butchered where they stood—

And it was then that white-armored forms jumped out of a troop carrier, clones leaping down onto the steps behind the droids and screaming bloody murder, charging forward with violence writ large in each movement. They came from everywhere, more and more of them, troops from the space battle taking place above them, or the wounded tearing themselves out of sickbeds, all of them swarming to the Temple, called to it without any message being sent out.

They destroyed the droid drop ships. They decimated the droids, buoying the Jedi’s numbers, until not a single member of the Separatist forces remained on the Temple ground. Yoda watched them afterwards, the way they cleared away droid bodies, setting up a perimeter around the Temple and flanking any Jedi they spotted with calm, focused movements, and he wondered, not for the first time, what he had done when he accepted them from the Kaminoans…

Master Windu found him in the aftermath, sweaty and smelling of blaster fire. “Where’d they come from?” he asked, mopping his face with one corner of his robe, exactly as he used to do as a Padawan.

“Everywhere.”

Master Windu glanced down at him, eyes narrowing. “You contacted them,” he said, not like a question.

Yoda shook his head. “No. Came on their own, they did.”

“Why?”

Yoda tapped his fingers on his cane, his body tired from the exertion of the battle. He was not as young as he’d once been, and though the Force kept him strong enough to fight, the cost of recovery afterwards was ever higher. “A mystery, it is,” he said. Master Windu opened his mouth, and Yoda rapped him on the shin before pointing the tip of his cane at the speck of a ship approaching at high speed. “More company, we will soon have. Very popular today, we are.”

Master Windu sighed, tugging his robes to right. “That’s got to be Skywalker. The galaxy couldn’t survive two people who fly like that.”

#

They went to the Temple. Of course they did. It seemed the only way forward, despite the dread Anakin felt about the visit. Maybe they’d be so grateful for a rescue that no one would comment on Obi-Wan’s condition, but Anakin doubted it. The majority of the Council delighted in commenting on every possible thing. That would change once he joined it. He’d make sure they focused on important issues.

Ahsoka joined them, along with as many troopers as they could cram into the little ship they’d managed to commandeer. From the sound of it, Rex spent most of the trip attempting to get Ahsoka to sit still long enough to bandage her sliced lekku. “I’m fine, the lightsaber cauterized it,” she was still protesting, when the Temple finally came into view.

“Force,” Anakin breathed out, taking it in. Smoke rose from the towers. A crashed droid transport covered most of the great staircases that led to the main doors. Hundreds of droid bodies lay everywhere. Here and there, the bright glow of lightsabers drew the eye. And then there were the clones. There were so many of them.

“Looks like we missed the fight,” Obi-Wan said, as Anakin landed them carefully outside of the defensive perimeter the troopers had established. Rex hopped out first, and the defending clones relaxed noticeably at the familiar uniform, lowering blasters all around. Masters Yoda and Windu waited at the base of the crashed droid transport and watched them approach. Anakin’s stomach turned restlessly, and Obi-Wan touched his shoulder, granting him a wave of peace that lasted, at least, until they reached speaking distance.

Anakin saw the moment Yoda’s ears perked up and his gaze dropped. He saw the moment Windu’s eyes first widened and then narrowed. And any hope that they would somehow just not notice dissipated, just like the smoke rising from the Temple. “Has the Temple been made safe?” Obi-Wan asked, either not noticing their attention or, more likely, simply ignoring it.

“Safe, it is,” Master Yoda said. “Much help, we had. Expected to see you on the planet, we did not.”

“We received a message from Master Mundi that the Senate was under attack by Dooku and Grievous,” Anakin explained, and watched both Masters go through almost identical expressions of alarm and then, as they took in the obvious signs of battle on the group before them, relief. They went back to staring at Obi-Wan. Anakin’s hand twitched towards his lightsaber.

“Handled the problem, you did?”

“We captured Count Dooku!” Ahsoka burst out. “And... “ She glanced at Obi-Wan, then. “I don’t actually know what happened with General Grievous.”

Obi-Wan waved a hand. “He fled, as usual. But he failed to murder the entire Senate, so I suppose we’ll count it as a success.”

Master Mundi ran up then, holding an injury in his side. He glanced at their group, did a double-take at Obi-Wan, and recovered valiantly, though he continued to stare as he reported, “We have word from General Secura and General Fisto—the blockade is breaking up. We have driven off their fleet!”

“Much to talk about, it seems we have,” Yoda said, looking them over again, his gaze landing on Anakin and narrowing. “But the place and time, this is not. Come. About the wounded and the fires, we will see.”

#

There were fires to put out—mostly taken care of by the troopers by the time the Jedi fully mobilized. There were injuries to tend and bodies to gather for burial, their corpses placed in the cool rooms below the Temple until such a time as they could be given their proper rites. There was rubble to clear and vital systems to repair. And then there was time, brief though it was, to sit and just breathe.

Obi-Wan sat at the edge of a hallway that had once been enclosed, dangling his feet out over the city, his tunic smeared with blood and dirt. The morning seemed a very long time ago. The sky overhead was as dark as it ever got on Coruscant, with billions of lights shining up from below. Millions of people moved around, in the buildings and streets of the massive city, going on about their lives in the face of the massive battle that had been waged. He wondered how many of them knew how poorly it could have gone. He wondered how many of them cared.

Anakin joined him, eventually, apparently tired of lingering in a doorway and staring at the back of his head. He sat close, so close that Obi-Wan felt the heat of his body. His face was filthy and the circles under his eyes were nearly black. He stared straight ahead, and said, “I thought I was going to lose you today.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. His chest felt heavy with emotion, and the Force felt so saturated from the events of the day that releasing it was fool’s errand. He tried anyway. “I thought much the same,” he said, finally. Anakin looked over, askance, and Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over his face. Force, when had he last felt rested? “I called to you and you didn’t hear me. It was like you were… somewhere else.” He shivered at the thought of it. “I thought you were going to kill him.”

Anakin sighed, looking over and staring firmly at Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I wanted to. I was going to,” he said, raw. Obi-Wan shuddered. The certainty that Anakin spoke with was cold and terrible. “It was all I could think about, before you… brought me back.”

The confession hung between them, nothing Obi-Wan had not already known, not really. “Anakin…” He had no idea what else to say. Anakin touched his hand, cautiously, and Obi-Wan watched as he threaded their fingers together. He did not know how to feel. He felt guilty for feeling anything at all, and relieved that the day had not held more losses, and unsure of the way forward, and tired. So very, very tired. And pleased, too, to be sitting beside Anakin, both of them alive, the worst of the catastrophes handled for the moment. He leaned over, until his shoulder bumped against Anakin’s, looking for something solid, something good, after all of the horrors of the day, and he heard Anakin’s breath catch. He tilted his face up, and Anakin touched his jaw, leaning in slow and carefully.

The kiss was a soft thing, a brush of their mouths, and then Obi-Wan shifted so their foreheads rested together, closing his eyes, just for a moment.

“Masters?” Ahsoka said, as tired-eyed as the rest of them, a white bandage capping the truncated end of her sliced lekku. Rex must have finally had his way. She stood at the edge of the hole in the wall, glancing nervously out across the sky. “The Council says they want to speak with you. Both of you.” Obi-Wan grimaced. He’d hoped, at least in the privacy of his own head, that this might be put off until he’d had a chance to sleep. But perhaps it was better to just get it over with. Ahsoka cleared her throat. “I can—I can tell them I couldn’t find you. If you want.”

Obi-Wan rose with only a small wince, offering a hand down to Anakin. “That won’t be necessary, Ahsoka.” He squeezed her shoulder on the way past, pushing healing energy into her skin. “Why don’t you go find your bunk and get some sleep? No doubt there will be much more work to do come morning.”

She surprised him by covering his hand with hers, her fingers small and already callused by lightsaber use. “I feel like I should be there. With you. I don’t know. Just in case.”

“Nothing will happen,” Obi-Wan assured her, and she looked doubtfully over at Anakin.

“Everything will be fine,” Anakin confirmed, though he did not look as though he believed it. “Get some rest, Snips. You helped beat a Sith lord today. That deserves a good sleep.”

She yawned, then, and nodded. She was still watching them when they turned at the end of the hall.

#

Anakin’s heart beat against his ribs, a fresh wave of adrenaline cresting in his blood as they entered the Council chambers. Only a few of the seats were full. Holographic systems were not working properly, yet, limiting the number of Masters to those presently on Coruscant. The lights overhead flickered and one of the giant windows had been broken, allowing a hard wind to blow through the room. They stood in the middle of the circle and gazed back at the watching faces.

Master Windu spoke first, “You carry a child.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head, just slightly. “So it seems.”

“How?”

Anakin caught the twitch of Obi-Wan’s mouth out of the corner of his eye and suppressed an anticipatory grin. “Biology, I’m afraid.”

“It was conceived on Circindia?” Master Mundi asked, and Obi-Wan nodded. Anakin wondered how he could stand so calmly. Anakin wanted nothing more than to pace around in a circle, or, even better, turn and storm from the room. What did it _matter_? Why should they care? What business was this of anyone’s? When Anakin was on the Council, he would—

“Planning to keep it, you are?”

Anakin froze, locking every muscle in his face into place to keep his expression from betraying anything. He had not even considered—but it would be a solution, of a sort. It would be a fast way to solve a problem. That did not change the panic he felt at the thought that they would take _his_ — He buried the thoughts as quickly as he could. He could _feel_ Master Yoda watching his face.

“I am,” Obi-Wan said, over the wild pounding of Anakin’s heart and the murmurs of the other Council members. Relief hit Anakin like a fist. It was a good thing he’d gotten used to withstanding blows. “I feel it is the will of the Force. Surely you all sense the conflux of power around the pregnancy?” It would have been hard to miss. Obi-Wan’s Force signature was lit up like a sun preparing to go supernova. It had only grown brighter over the last few days.

Several members of the Council shifted, uncomfortable, but not arguing the point. “Then we will have to discuss the consequences you will—”

“There are no rules against pregnancy in the Order,” Obi-Wan interrupted. “Trust me, I checked.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Master Windu said, arching one impressive brow.

“True, it is,” Yoda said, tapping the point of his cane against the floor. “Unfair to punish individuals for what they cannot always control, it would be.”

The level of discomfort rose around the room. Anakin began to hope that perhaps they would be freed from this audience simply because the Council wanted to escape as badly as they did. But Master Windu pressed on. “Nevertheless, the bond between a parent and child—”

“Cannot be that strong, or else none of us would be here,” Anakin cut in, ignoring the sharp look Obi-Wan shot him. They’d long ago agreed that, when discussing highly volatile issues with the Council, it was better for Anakin to keep his contributions to the minimum. Anakin pushed an apologetic thought Obi-Wan’s way, and was rewarded with a faint look of surprise.

“A point, Skywalker has. Faced if it arises, that problem will be. Now. The identity of the father, you will tell us.”

Obi-Wan met Yoda’s eyes without wavering. Anakin wondered why they even bothered to ask. Surely, they had to know. Why else call him along to this meeting? Obi-Wan said, “There were more than a dozen alphas on Circindia, and I was not in my right mind.” And it was not a lie, not as such. But neither was it the truth, nor, even, an answer to Yoda’s implied question.

Yoda stared at him, and Master Windu said, “Including Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan glanced towards him. “Anakin attempted to protect and offer me aid throughout our entire time on the planet.”

And that, too, was not a lie, while avoiding the truth they sought. And it sounded so chiding, as though Obi-Wan were offended that the suggestion had even been mentioned. Anakin was impressed, even below his frustration with the entire situation. A part of him wanted to grab Obi-Wan and kiss him in front of all of them. A part of him wanted to yell that the child would be his, of course it would be. But. This way was better. Obi-Wan was right. They would not make him a Master, they would not accept him on the Council, not if they knew the truth of his feelings, or what he had done.

For a long moment, none of them spoke, and Anakin wondered if they would push again, and how far Obi-Wan would bend the truth, if they did. Master Mundi finally broke. “But the Force signature surely implies—”

“Enough,” Master Yoda interrupted. “Handled, this matter has been. More important issues, before us there are. Reports, we all have. Discuss them now, we will.”

And Anakin breathed out, a terrible weight lifting off of his chest, at least for the moment. It was strange to be relieved by the talk of war.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm going to be very busy tomorrow. That means this chapter goes up early!

Obi-Wan slept poorly, despite the exhaustion of the previous day, and woke before the sun even began to crawl across the horizon. He sat on his unadorned bed in his unadorned room and his thoughts snagged on Anakin--sleeping, still, by the feel of him--across the hall. The few hours of sleep that Obi-Wan had managed did little to help him sort out the events of the attack on the Senate or what had followed at the Temple.

So much of what had happened seemed half a dream, beginning with Anakin’s near strangulation of Dooku and ending with their strange audience before the Council. Had Obi-Wan really kissed Anakin, in a moment where the weariness in his bones made it seem like the only possible bit of comfort in the galaxy? He ought not to have, he knew; it would only encourage Anakin. But he could not go back and change the action.

And the kiss had, terribly, provided the comfort Obi-Wan had needed. Anakin had been warm and gentle, present in the moment. It had felt good, to touch another person with affection--better than it should have. He shook his head and readied himself for the day, trying to hold the tangle of emotions at bay with busy work.

A message waited for him, informing him that his clone commander wished to speak with him, once he awoke. He stared at it, flicked a gaze towards Anakin’s rooms--quiet and still--and commed Cody, surprised to learn that he was, in fact, not only on Coruscant, but at the Temple.

Obi-Wan found him in one of the gardens, sitting on a bench shaped from the growing trunk of a tree, watching a group of younglings chase one another among falling leaves of burnished red and gold. The children ranged in age from toddlers to the years right before puberty. The older ones lifted their younger compatriots with the Force, swirling them through the leaves while the children laughed. Obi-Wan sat beside Cody, the antics of the younglings drawing a smile that he would not have anticipated when he awoke.

Cody was frowning faintly, his dark eyes tracking the movements of the children. He was mumbling something under his breath, and stopped when Obi-Wan sat. He asked, “This is where our child will be raised? With them?”

Obi-Wan’s temporary distraction fled. He sighed, and exhaustion settled heavy around his shoulders once more, reclaiming its standard position. “I suppose. It’s where I was raised.” He could not even remember a mother, a father, another family but the Jedi. They had found him when he was very young, younger than most of the younglings delivered unto their care. Cody continued to frown, and Obi-Wan shifted, trying to quiet a sudden itching protest in the back of his mind. “It is not a bad way to grow up. There are worse.”

“Mm. Kind of reminds me of Kamino,” Cody said, finally looking away from the children, and Obi-Wan fought to control a flinch at the observation. The similarities were there, if he looked for them. They were both children raised by individuals not of their families, brought to adulthood in groups, all taught the same things, all taught to serve the same purpose. Something heavy settled in Obi-Wan’s stomach, nameless and hard and cold. He shivered, and Cody frowned at his expression, continuing, “They seem happy.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, thick. He cleared his throat. “They do.”

“And safe,” Cody added, casting another look at the younglings, his expression tightening with some emotion that Obi-Wan could not quite discern. For a moment, Cody’s presence in the Force wavered, went almost… blank. It passed quickly.

Obi-Wan shook his head to clear it. “They are well protected here. They certainly were yesterday. I understand that troopers came from everywhere to defend the Temple.”

Cody nodded, not looking surprised. “We heard reports that there’d been an attack here. I sent everyone we could spare.” He shrugged. “Not a lot of use for ground troops in a space battle. And they all wanted to go. They’d have found a way to go on their own, if I didn’t order it. I know the other commanders did the same.”

Obi-Wan watched his expression; he spoke as though their actions were perfectly understandable, but Obi-Wan did not grasp them. The clones were supposed to follow orders--to defend Republic interests at all costs. They protected the Jedi in the field, if they could, but the Senate had been under attack as well. Surely that should have been their priority, yet he had seen no influx of troopers there…. “Why?”

Cody blinked over at him, wearing an expression Obi-Wan was growing increasingly familiar with, the one that said he was going to have to explain something he thought was obvious. “Can’t speak for everyone, sir, but for the 212th, this is… _your_ home. That makes it _our_ home. If we let anything happen to it, to your family, we’d be…” He grimaced, shaking his head. “We just couldn’t let anything happen. Bad enough those kriffing droids ever sat foot here. We won’t let _that_ happen again.” He spoke like he was making a terrible promise.

The sentiment was surprising and it should have felt inappropriate. But the clones had so little. They’d had to take what they could find, in a universe that barely understood them and had no real place for them. Obi-Wan could not bring himself to tell them that they could _not_ choose what they valued, what they wanted to protect. Surely they deserved _that_ , at the very least. Besides, it sounded like an alpha thing. Everyone knew they could be horribly territorial, if given the chance.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Well, many lives were saved here.” He felt desperate to change the subject. “What about our losses?”

Cody winced. “Not as bad as they could have been. The _Negotiator_ took heavy damage, but she can be repaired. Already got crews working on her. Give them a bit of time and she’ll be ready for another fight. General Secura’s forces took the brunt of the attack before we got here, with General Fisto. General Koon finally arrived as the battle was ending--he chased Grievous when the coward fled. Don’t think he’s caught him yet.”

Most of the information had been shared at the Council meeting the night before, but it was good to hear it confirmed. He trusted Cody to tell him the truth of the matter, something he was uncomfortable to realize he could not say for the Council.

The war had been long. Choices had been made that were necessary, but… frustrating.

“Excellent work, Commander.”

One side of Cody’s mouth twitched in acknowledgment. “Heard you captured Count Dooku.”

“We have him in custody, yes.”

Something dark and satisfied passed across Cody’s expression. “Good.” His smile turned vicious, just for a moment. “I’d love to have a word with him.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to ask what _that_ meant, when a wave of sudden worry pushed against him through the Force, familiar and startlingly clear. His connection to Anakin had grown immensely strong--stronger than any bond he’d experienced. He could only assume it had something to do with the pregnancy; there was not enough information about pregnant Jedi for him to be sure.

He sent back reassurance and a sense of the garden, surprised by the strength of the relief that followed immediately. He looked back at Cody, who was watching him curiously, and said, “I think we’re about to have company.”

#

Nightmares woke Anakin. Perhaps something about staying in the Temple brought them on. He jerked awake, a scream in his throat, images of Obi-Wan, his face twisted in pain, his robes soaked with blood, still dancing behind his eyes. He stumbled to the fresher and collapsed in front of the toilet, bringing up what meager food he’d had time to get down the night before. Acid stung the back of his throat, and he pressed his mouth against his wrist, fighting the urge to dry heave.

The nightmare had been terribly real--as real as his premonitions about his mother, as real as the sense of dread and fire that had led him after Obi-Wan, not so very long ago. He spat and rinsed his mouth, grabbing a tunic. Obi-Wan’s room was only across the hall. He would check, make sure everything was alright. Perhaps they could eat breakfast together, before they were swept up into the inevitable work of the day.

Someone knocked at his door, clipped, just as he reached it, their presence familiar and tinged with worry.

“Good morning, Padme,” Anakin said, waving the door open and marshalling a smile for her. She had never visited his quarters at the Temple before, but her presence was always welcome. His smile faded, immediately, as he took in the pinched set of her mouth and the stiff line of her shoulders. She wore a plain cloak, possibly as an attempt to disguise her identity, a process that would have been more useful if she did not walk through the halls of the Jedi Temple. He stepped back from the door, motioning her inside, his nightmare temporarily forgotten. “What’s wrong?”

She moved past him, pulling down her hood. Her hair had been neatly braided back, unadorned. Something serious brought her, then. She took in his room in an instant--there was not much to see--and something sad passed across her face, before worry once more dominated her expression. “Duchess Satine is missing.”

Anakin blinked. “What?”

“She’s gone, Anakin. Since yesterday. She led the Senators out of the Senate chamber and to safety, but then no one seems to know where she went--not even her own delegation! I’ve looked everywhere!” She paced fitfully across the room. He wondered if she’d slept. “When I brought up her absence, I was told she was probably just lying low, but--but it doesn’t _feel_ that way.” She colored across her cheeks, but met Anakin’s gaze straight on, without flinching. “And I don’t believe she would disappear without leaving me a means to contact her. I’m sorry for bringing this to you--I know you have other worries--but I didn’t know who else would believe me.”

Anakin had seen them together. He was inclined to agree with Padme’s assessment that the Duchess would not simply run off, leaving Padme in the dark. “Of course I believe you.” He called his lightsaber to his hand. “And I’ll _always_ help you, Padme. Don’t worry. We’ll find her.” Relief broke across her expression in a wave so obvious that Anakin did not need to feel its echoes in the Force. He squeezed her shoulder and directed her out of the room, pausing as he reached out for Obi-Wan and found him… not in his room.

Worry flooded Anakin’s mind, a flurry of thoughts arriving all at once. Perhaps whoever had taken Satine had taken Obi-Wan as well, perhaps some droids had infiltrated the Temple, perhaps--

Calm reassurance brushed against his thoughts, tinged with familiar fondness. It was Obi-Wan, reaching out to him, and providing an image of the gardens, full of playing younglings, the scene tainted by the sense of another alpha. Relief that Obi-Wan was safe _almost_ prevented Anakin from caring. Almost. He shook his head. “Come on, we just need to get Obi-Wan.”

He expected a comment about that, but Padme seemed too worried to make it. She followed him, grim-faced, through the Temple halls, until they arrived in the gardens. Obi-Wan sat, aglow with the Force, on one of the benches, beside, yes, Cody. Of course. Anakin bristled, and Obi-Wan turned to look at him, as though he sensed the burst of emotion. For a moment, Anakin indulged in simply gazing at him, drinking him in and overriding the horrible images from the nightmare, and then he continued forward.

Both Obi-Wan and Cody rose to greet them, and Anakin frowned at how closely Cody dared to stand. He moved to Obi-Wan’s other side, placed a hand on his back, and drew him a little closer, sensing bemusement and a brief flash of pleasure from Obi-Wan, one that shocked him enough to dispel some portion of his irritation. “Something you needed?” Obi-Wan asked, arching one eyebrow and making no effort to move away.

Anakin left Padme explain the situation and was less than surprised when Obi-Wan offered immediate assistance. And he couldn’t quite smother his surge of approval when Cody had to return to the _Negotiator_.

#

“A matter for the Jedi, are you sure this is?” Master Yoda asked, when they brought the issue of Satine’s disappearance to him as he assisted with the removal of the crashed droid transport. Anakin and Padme had both wanted to set out immediately on the trail, ceding with some grumbling to Obi-Wan’s insistence that they at least mention where they were going first. The Council would be watching him--and Anakin--closely enough going forward. There was no need to increase their suspicion over a legitimate matter. Besides, the Order could offer some resources, if the conversation went well.

Anakin steadied the large piece of debris that Master Yoda lifted, and said, “Yes, Master. After all, I was assigned to protect the Chancellor from the Death Watch. They are the most likely culprits in Duchess Satine’s disappearance. Allowing them to abduct dignitaries from right under our noses will embolden them, making them a greater threat to the Chancellor.”

Yoda hummed and glanced up at Anakin. “Abandoned that assignment, you did.”

“Only temporarily, Master. I have seen the error of my ways.” Anakin’s repentant face, as always, needed more work, but he made a solid attempt at deploying it.

Yoda snorted a laugh. “Wonder I do, if you have. However, concerned I am, about Duchess Satine’s disappearance. Worrying, the circumstances and timing are. Taken by the Separatists, she could have been. Assigned to find her, you both are.” He glanced at Obi-Wan and his ears rose. “Well-suited to the task, I believe you will be.” He turned and reached up to pat Padme’s arm, granting her a soft smile, before limping off to another pile of rubble.

“Great,” Ahsoka said, hiding a yawn behind one hand. “Where do we start?”

Obi-Wan smiled down at her and warned, “You’re not going to like it.” And, indeed, by the time they arrived at the Senate chambers and began reviewing the holos from the previous day, she already looked bored out of her mind. There were so many to check; the complex was huge and each hall, each room, each corner seemed to have its own recording. They started with the areas closest to Satine’s last known location.

Obi-Wan watched her lead the panicking Senators from the main chamber, the mass of them fleeing down the hall towards uncertain freedom. They bumped into one another and shoved, eventually swarming around Satine as she motioned them past, into the open air. For an instant, she was lost in the crowd, and then the last of the Senators passed, and she was gone. No matter how many times they rewound and watched it all over again, it was impossible to track where she had disappeared to.

They switched to the next recorder, watching Senators scramble out into the open air, past the fallen droids they had cut down in the first minutes of the rescue attempt. Satine made no appearance. Padme paced behind them as they worked, worrying at her bottom lip. Obi-Wan watched her, pushing a wave of calm towards her, and said, “The holos have obviously been tampered with.”

“Yeah.” Anakin tapped the screen showing the Senators swarming down the hall. “This one. There’s missing time. Not much. And it was skillfully done.”

“Just that one?” Padme asked, leaned over their shoulders. “The video of the hanger is unchanged?” R2 whistled from where he had plugged into the system, and she frowned. “So they must have taken her back into the complex, then. Can we search the passages leading off the hall? In order, if you don’t mind.” They tracked the path of Satine’s abduction that way, finding recordings that had been altered or looped, all the way to a small, dirty looking entrance to the complex--the trash removal area.

“They could have gone anywhere from there,” Ahsoka said. “Can we access the traffic holos?”

“Not from here.” Anakin stood, stretching out his shoulders, and Obi-Wan looked away before he got caught staring, chiding himself. R2 whistled sharply, then, and Anakin leaned over. “Well, show us, then! Don’t keep us in suspense.”

The little droid chirped a complaint, and the holos jumped back to the hallway out of the Senate chambers, in the second after Satine simply disappeared. The feed warbled, went to static for a moment, and then resolved into a blurred image of the Duchess being dragged away by a trio of black-clad individuals. One of them had a hand over her mouth and he seemed to be looking directly at the holo recorder. He was tall and fair-haired, with eyes like a dead thing. Obi-Wan stared at him and said, “That’s Vizsla. So it was Death Watch, then. Well, at least we don’t have to figure out where they’re going. He’ll be taking her to Mandalore.”

“Are you sure?” Padme was staring at the holo, her attention riveted by Satine. There was a tremble in her hands. Obi-Wan wondered if she realized. “I mean…. If they wanted her on Mandalore, wouldn’t they just wait for her to return?”

“Where would the glory be in that?” Obi-Wan said, quiet. It was hard to explain what seemed so clear to him, but they had not his experience with Mandalorians.

Padme finally looked away from the holo. “Won’t they…” She visibly marshalled herself, smoothing out her expression into something distant and cool. “Will they not simply kill her? They want her dead so badly.”

“No. They’ll take her back to Mandalore. Maybe to execute her. Maybe to put her on trial. Maybe to try to force her to renounce her views.”

Padme stared at him. “How can you be so sure?”

He shrugged. “I know Mandalore. If they kill her anywhere else, their claim to the throne will be… tainted. Lessened. It’s hard to explain.”

That got Anakin’s attention. He jerked his head around and said, “But Death Watch tried to kill her, before… before I came to find you. They nearly succeeded.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “You’re sure Death Watch was behind the attempt on her life?”

“Well, who else would want her dead?”

That drew a laugh from Obi-Wan’s throat. Padme answered for him, back to staring grimly at the holo, “I could list a dozen factions off the top of my head. She has plenty of enemies among the Separatists and even in the Republic. With her out of the way, Mandalore’s forces _would_ join the war. They would be a terrible boon, to whichever side they supported.”

For a moment they stared at Satine’s image, blue and indistinct, stolen in the midst of what Obi-Wan had thought was a rescue. Would nothing in this cursed war ever turn out properly?

Anakin sighed, shifting so his chest brushed against Obi-Wan’s back, his hand curled companionably around Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he pushed calm and strength through the Force, the gesture so unexpected that Obi-Wan twisted to blink up at him. “Alright. We need to move. Obi-Wan, you say they’re going to Mandalore?” Obi-Wan managed to nod. “Then it sounds like we’re going to need some transport, Snips.”

“I thought we might,” Ahsoka said, her gaze still on the holo. “And I think Rex should be outside right about now, with what we need.”

#

Obi-Wan had leaned into him and invited a kiss, not a day cycle ago. And then they had walked into the Council chambers, and walked out of them, and had not mentioned it. And now they traveled through hyperspace once more, and they had not mentioned it. Anakin could not figure out what it meant, no matter how many times the memory circled, over and over, through his mind. Had Obi-Wan forgiven Anakin for pushing things between them in the training room? Had he finally seen how good they could be? Had he had just a moment of weakness?

The thoughts chased Anakin into the fresher, where he braced his hands on the wall and blew out a frustrated breath. He _could_ go talk to Obi-Wan about it, but in his present mood, he wasn’t sure how much talking he’d manage. He wanted so many things and so many of them centered on Obi-Wan. Perhaps he _would_ go find him, if only to find out why he had been talking to Cody earlier…

Anakin received a message on his communicator before he made it out the door. He scowled at it, thinking to ignore it, but it was marked as a priority, and perhaps it had information about the Duchess. He sighed and accepted it, stifling a frown when Palpatine’s holo image appeared. “Chancellor,” he greeted, stiffly. He could not help thinking that if the man had fled his office _slightly_ faster, Ahsoka would not have been injured and Obi-Wan would not have been threatened. “Something I can help you with?”

The Chancellor smiled. “Anakin, I’m so pleased I got a hold of you. I hoped that we could speak with one another in person, but the Council tells me you have left Coruscant…?”

Anakin shrugged. “I do like to stay busy, sir.”

The Chancellor nodded, radiating an expression of understanding. “Of course, and we all appreciate your efforts. Where are you off to, now?”

Anakin opened his mouth and reconsidered. It was not that he did not trust the Chancellor, of course. But the Death Watch obviously had their fingers in Senate security; they would never have been able to alter the holos, otherwise. Providing them with a warning would endanger the Duchess’s life even further, and, worse than that, it could increase the risk to Obi-Wan’s well-being. He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Here and there.”

Palpatine blinked, his smile wavering for a moment. “I see,” he said, and his expression brightened once more. “I look forward to hearing about your adventure when you return to Coruscant. As well as any other important news you would like to share…?”

The question was enough to shift Anakin’s thoughts back to Obi-Wan. He’d probably be meditating by now. Anakin could join him, enjoy his presence while they sat peacefully together. It was not what he would most enjoy doing alone with Obi-Wan, but… He realized, after a moment, that he was leaving his side of the conversation hanging, and cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, “I’ll be sure to contact you. Unfortunately, I have to….” He waved a hand, and the Chancellor looked pinched as the conversation ended. Perhaps the old man grew lonely. Anakin would have to try to find some time to visit him. But not at the moment.

Anakin sighed, glanced in the mirror, and went to find Obi-Wan, who was, indeed, meditating on the floor in his quarters. Obi-Wan cracked an eye open when Anakin stepped inside, and watched him carefully as he settled, cross-legged, an… acceptable distance away. “Can I join you?” Anakin asked, after it would have been awkward for Obi-Wan to refuse.

One of Obi-Wan’s brows arched in surprise, but he nodded. “Please,” he said, and shut his eyes again. Anakin was fully prepared to simply watch him, surreptitiously, but found himself strangely calmed. Obi-Wan’s Force signature curled around him, warm and comforting, and his thoughts settled on their own, tamed and brought to heel with an ease he had only rarely managed. His shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes, his breath matching easily to Obi-Wan’s, his heartrate growing slow and sweet.

When Obi-Wan finally stirred him, sometime later, he felt better than he had in… in so long he could barely remember. “Thanks,” he murmured, when Obi-Wan offered him a hand up. Glimmers and light still caught in Anakin’s vision, turning Obi-Wan’s eyes to stars and his hair to sunlight. Anakin held his hand, longer than he needed to, and Obi-Wan examined him, looking for… something.

“You should join me more often,” Obi-Wan said, finally, and the invitation pleased Anakin, prompted him into moving just a little closer, watching Obi-Wan tilt his chin up to keep looking him in the eye.

“I’d like that,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle back along Obi-Wan’s cheek, watching his lashes fall against his skin as he blinked rapidly. Someone walked by, in the hall outside, laughing loudly, and Obi-Wan blinked like he was waking up, stepping back and clearing his throat.

“You are welcome anytime,” he said, a rasp in his voice that sent Anakin’s thoughts down shivery trails. “But now I believe I will try to get some rest.”

Anakin nodded, and did not put up a fight. Obi-Wan looked tired, and he should rest, as much as he needed to--more than he needed to, perhaps. Whatever was necessary for his health. Anakin returned to his own quarters, his mind still calm and managed to fall into dreams, on the ship that Rex claimed to have requisitioned for their use, thinking of the fall of Obi-Wan’s lashes on his cheek.

He woke dreaming of tears and fire and blood and _screams--_

He had no memory of stumbling out of his quarters before he planted a hand by Obi-Wan’s door and banged on it, unconcerned with anything but getting him to answer. Obi-Wan did, a moment later, sleep rumpled and bleary-eyed, asking, “Anakin, is everything--Anakin!”

He batted aside Obi-Wan’s hands, turning his face to the side, looking for wounds, sliding his hands down Obi-Wan’s throat, over his shoulder and chest, needing to be sure he was whole and healthy, the proof that he was fine stealing the strength from Anakin’s knees. He leaned hard into Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan held him, held them both, his arms strong and solid around Anakin’s ribs. “What’s the matter?” Obi-Wan demanded, nudging at Anakin’s overrun emotions with the Force. “What’s going on?”

“I had a terrible dream,” Anakin choked out to him, when his throat no longer felt so tight with fear. The scent of Obi-Wan’s hair calmed him. He turned his face against it, breathing deeply, and admitted, shuddering, “Like the dreams I had about my mother.”

He felt Obi-Wan tighten his hold. “About who? Duchess Satine?”

Anakin choked, not quite laughing, feeling too raw inside of his ribs to laugh, even at Obi-Wan’s wildly incorrect guess. He shook his head and pulled back, collecting the remnants of his distress as he did so. “No. Never mind. It’s nothing,” he said. “Only a dream.” He did not want to speak the truth of it aloud. That felt like it would make real the terrible images--Obi-Wan’s face, twisted in agony, his robes covered with blood, his hand reaching out desperately--in a way they were not yet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have woke you.” He turned for the door, and Obi-Wan stopped him with a touch on his arm.

“What did you dream?” He looked vulnerable, in his sleeping tunic. The short sleeves revealed too many scars and too many freckles, and the thin fabric hung close to his frame, worn down to muscle and bone from the long war. Anakin stared at him, the dream sitting like a coal on his tongue, and wished, just for a moment, that he’d merely fled to the fresher to vomit. “Anakin, tell me. Please.”

Anakin swallowed convulsively, looking away. He did not want to say. But denying Obi-Wan anything remained impossibly difficult. “I dreamed of you,” he said, finally, and heard Obi-Wan suck in a breath. “I saw _you_. You were hurt--dying.” His gorge tried to rise. “It was not a… good death.”

Obi-Wan shifted a little closer. “Probably just a bad memory, then,” he said, forced levity in his tone, and Anakin stared at him, too wrung out to offer a glare. Obi-Wan’s expression softened with apology after a moment. “It’s alright, Anakin. We’ve both nearly died so many times. I’m sure we both will again, before--”

“Don’t say that.” The fear stung, burning up Anakin’s spine as he turned, catching Obi-Wan’s shoulders and squeezing. “Don’t--I’m not going to let anything happen to you--you can’t--I need--”

“Sh.” Obi-Wan looked taken aback. He held onto Anakin’s arms, and Anakin’s clumsy tongue stumbled to a halt. He held onto Obi-Wan while his breathing evened out again. Exhaustion had carved lines into Obi-Wan’s face, and Anakin was only making them worse. He grimaced.

“You need to rest,” he said, releasing Obi-Wan, but not managing to step back. He looked at the door and his stomach soured. The thought of not being there ground along his bones like a metal claw. He hated having doors separating them, and with the dream still so fresh in his mind it was like torture... “I want--Can I stay? In here? Just to sleep, Obi-Wan,” he reassured, when Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “I won’t…” His gaze dropped, involuntarily, and Obi-Wan flushed a pink color that made Anakin’s tongue heavy. He cleared his throat. “Please.”

Obi-Wan stared at him and then sighed, motioning at the sad little bed at his back. “I don’t think it’ll hold us both.”

“I’ll fit,” Anakin promised, and Obi-Wan, Force bless him, blushed deeper across his cheeks, glancing down Anakin’s body and then away. He _did_ think about certain parts of Circindia, then. Anakin appreciated the proof. “Come on, Obi-Wan. How many bedrolls have we shared?” Of course, that had all been before he’d tasted Obi-Wan’s skin. Back then he’d only had his imaginings to inappropriately heat his blood. “It’s too cold on this kriffing ship, anyway.”

He fully expected Obi-Wan to say no, in which case he would...what? Sleep outside the door, perhaps? He could doze standing up. It wouldn’t be _too_ suspicious. He would just--

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, and he turned before Anakin could see his face. He climbed into his bunk stiffly and quickly, like a man trying to get a necessary task over with, and then laid on his side, staring at the bulkhead.

Anakin shut his mouth and decided that waiting for Obi-Wan to change his mind was a mistake. He put a knee on the bed, watching the mattress dip, shifting Obi-Wan towards him, and shivered, not at all from the cold. The cot _was_ narrow. He lay down slowly, stretching out behind Obi-Wan, pressed against him in a hundred delicious places. After a moment, he slid his arm over Obi-Wan’s waist, and, when that passed without comment beyond a sharp little inhalation, he rested his head on the pillow, his nose brushing Obi-Wan’s hair.

They fitted well, and Anakin relaxed, almost against his will, his eyes growing tremendously heavy, reminding him of the exhaustion that had been dogging him so relentlessly. Still, he thought he would not be able to sleep--how could he, with Obi-Wan held so close?--but tiredness was a vicious foe, and, shifting sleepily closer, he fell into a sleep blessedly free of dreams.

#

Knocking woke Obi-Wan, and he blinked at a gray wall, so comfortable he did not want to move. He was warm and he felt heavy in a way that, strangely, did not hurt. He shifted, testing the movement, and an arm tightened around his waist, pulling him back against a broad chest and a hard---well. A nose nuzzled against his throat. Anakin. Anakin was sleeping in his bed. Because Obi-Wan had given him permission.

It had made sense, in the middle of the night, when he was exhausted and he could feel how much Anakin needed the closeness, needed something to relieve the fear pouring off of him through the Force.

With someone pounding on the door, his reasons felt less obvious.

Anakin jerked to wakefulness at his back, his hair a mane around his head as he pushed up with a sleep-rough growl that didn’t quite manage to become words.

Obi-Wan caught his arm before he could spring from the bed and murmured, “Relax, its Padme.” Anakin blinked, obviously waking up enough to take in his location, if the way his gaze dragged downward was any indication. Obi-Wan ignored the weight of his eyes and called, “One moment!” Anakin wore no shirt. None of Obi-Wan’s clothes were likely to fit him. They both looked sleep-messy, if one were inclined to put it kindly. But there was nowhere to hide Anakin in the room. Obi-Wan sighed and tried to accept the situation.

He had, after all, been caught in a far more compromising position with Anakin, not all that long ago. At least he wasn’t covered in marks this time. And all of his clothes were in one piece. He rolled from the bed, leaving Anakin staring forward, in the middle of his messy sheets, looking like he’d swallowed his tongue.

Padme looked the closest she got to distraught when Obi-Wan opened the door. “Thank the Force you’re here,” she said, all in a rush, “Anakin is missing. He’s not in his room, and I looked--”

Anakin cleared his throat, then, stepping up behind Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He had at least made some attempt to straighten his hair, but little could be done about the lack of a shirt or shoes, or the impressions from the pillow across the side of his cheek. “Good morning, Padme,” he said, and, when she stared at him, her eyes growing wider and wider, he offered, “Obi-Wan and I were getting in some meditation.”

Padme looked at them both. She had to be able to see the disordered bed. She cleared her throat, and said, “Of course. My apologies for interrupting. I should… let you finish.”

“That’s not…” Obi-Wan started, but she’d already stepped back by then, waving the door closed and leaving them alone.

Obi-Wan groaned and scrubbed at his face, leaning a shoulder against the wall. The universe seemed out to humiliate him, of late. Anakin chuckled, and Obi-Wan cracked an eye open to look at him. “You find this amusing?” he asked.

“Little bit,” Anakin conceded, and then sobered. He reached out, as though intending to press a hand against the wall near Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and then shook his head, and leaned against the wall, instead, almost close enough to touch. He stared at the far bulkhead, his mouth thinning out as his emotions turned serious. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me stay.” He scrubbed at his face. “I don’t like not...not being near you. When you sleep. You could--something could--I don’t like it.”

Obi-Wan considered that. Even at that moment, Anakin had managed to put himself between Obi-Wan and the door, not blocking it, but ensuring he would be in the way of anything that tried to come through. His protective impulses showed no sign of lessening. Obi-Wan could not muster the effort necessary to feign surprise. Anakin had always worried about his safety. It had only worsened once Anakin’s mother died. Now, with the promise of a child… He would probably be unbearable about it. He sighed and shelved the thoughts. “We both needed the sleep,” he said.

Anakin straightened immediately, looking Obi-Wan over with a frown. “Are you still tired? Maybe you should go back to bed. We have a few days--”

“I’m alright,” Obi-Wan said, waving aside the concern. “Perhaps hungry.”

Anakin looked like he’d just been given an order. “Then we should go get breakfast.”

Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side, amused despite the morning’s earlier events. “Only if you get a shirt,” he said.

#

“Ah, _Duchess_ , I see you’re awake.”

Satine knew that voice, knew it too well. She blinked her eyes open, anger clearing away the groggy confusion in her mind. Vizsla stood before her, wearing the smirk that he thought made him look so very threatening. It failed to make him look like anything other than an asshole. She scowled back, the fuzz around her thoughts making the world seem distant. Still, she was able to determine that her arms and neck had been chained before she tried to surge to her feet to yell at him. Instead, she carefully collected herself, and said, “I will not cede to any of your demands.”

Fury dissolved his smirk. He’d never had any control over his emotions. He took a step forward, the terrible weapon that he handled like a toy brandished in his hand. “You should not be so hasty,” he snarled. “There are no Jedi here, no soldiers to fight your battles for you, _Duchess_.”

She tilted her chin up, ignoring the uncomfortable pinch of the chains around her throat and narrowing her eyes. “Indeed,” she said, “I see no warriors here at all.”

He growled, brandishing the darksaber. She held his gaze, unflinching. They were on a ship. She could feel the engines. He would not kill her, then. Not yet, no matter how she goaded him. After all, any dynasty claimed off of Mandalore would _not_ be Mandalorian. He had gone to too much trouble to lose that extra layer of validation.

“You dare speak to me of warriors?” he demanded, a snarl on his face. “You? Who preaches peace while others kill for you?” He screwed up his mouth as though he would spit, but did not. His words stung, and she scowled back, refusing to allow the effect of them to show.

“I would not expect you to understand.”

He snorted. “I do not have the stomach to bandy words with you,” he said, gesturing two guards into the cell. One held a syringe, full of some pale liquid. “And I do not feel like dealing with whatever foolish plan for escape you come up with. So…” The guards grabbed her arms, then, holding tight when she thrashed against them. The syringe bit into her flesh, and it burned.

“What is this?” She demanded, burying the fear that soured in her gut. “What are you doing?” Did her tongue feel heavy? Her head did. She sagged back, unable to straighten her muscles.

Vizsla smiled. “Ensuring you stay in your place,” he said. “You would be wise to use this time to reconsider your options. We are not far from our destination.”

#

That first full day of hyperspace travel seemed to stretch endlessly, the weight of distant Mandalore pulling them along, with the promise of a battle that felt final and terrible waiting for them there. The issue of Mandalore’s future would have to be settled. Obi-Wan felt it. But the outcome was hidden to him, cloudy in the Force. He did not have a terrible feeling about what approached, but neither could he relax, despite the mediation he’d sunken into after Ahsoka dragged Anakin off to beat on him with training sabers.

Obi-Wan sighed. The only thing his meditation truly brought was a burning awareness of Padme’s terrible worry. He unfolded and stood, unsure what he could say to comfort the turmoil he felt from her, but aware something needed said.

He found her in her quarters, scowling at a star-map while 3PO regaled her with what seemed to be the complete history of Mandalore. “Learn anything interesting?” Obi-Wan asked, leaning in the doorway.

Padme blinked up at him, bags under her eyes, her hair in the simple braid she’d worn since she came to them for help in the Temple. She tossed the star-map aside, waving 3PO to silence. “Nothing I didn’t already know,” she said. “It’s amazing she managed to keep them out of the war for so long.”

“Yes,” he agreed, stepping into the room when she gestured him forward. “I’m not sure anyone else could have managed it.”

Padme nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her headache was so severe that he could feel the echoes of it. He reached out, brushing the pads of his fingers across her temple and easing what he could. She shivered and glanced up at him, a small smile settling on her mouth. “Thank you, that’s much better.” She cleared her throat, then, and carefully set her expression. She said, “I heard the… news.” Her gaze dipped, just perceptibly, towards his midsection. “Are… congratulations in order?”

He snorted a laugh, wondering who she had heard it from. By this point, it could have been any number of sources. “I suppose that’s yet to be determined.”

She nodded, picking up her star-map once more. “It must be a difficult situation for you.”

“Mm. Just as this is for you.”

Padme grimaced, her fingers hovering above Mandalore. She swallowed and glanced up at him. “I did want to speak with you about the Duchess…” She trailed off then, a miserable look crossing her features as she visibly tried to marshal her thoughts. “I know the two of you--”

Obi-Wan took pity on them both, and spared her having to finish the sentence. “You have my blessing, if you want it.” She gaped at him, shock writ large over her features, and he grinned at her, gently. It was not so hard to read her worry, not after he had known her for so long. He could sense her affection, but perhaps he had caught her wrong-footed. He continued, to give her more time to collect her thoughts, “I’ll always care for her, of course. But…” He shrugged. “Our paths diverged long ago.”

“I see,” she said, carefully. “That’s…” She drew in a deep breath, then, and straightened her shoulders, tucking away the awkward emotions generated by their conversation. “Where will they take her, once they reach Mandalore?”

#

Ahsoka had grown fast and brutal with her saber techniques, testing even Anakin’s skills when she held nothing back--the difference, he decided, between completing your training in a time of peace versus a time of war. She’d managed to end their practice session with a blow across his gut that still smarted as he headed back to his quarters at the end of the day-cycle. Granted, he’d scored three killing blows by then, but he was still impressed by her skill.

He visited the fresher, straightened the three objects in his quarters, and then stood at the foot of his bed. It was late. He should try to sleep.

But.

But, he could sense Obi-Wan across the hall, and it itched. His hindbrain could not understand why he was considering crawling into this cold, empty cot, when he had slept so warm the previous night, curled against his--

The sour taste of the nightmare crept into his mouth, images flashing across the back of his eyes, taunting and horrible. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the blood, the shape of his name on Obi-Wan’s mouth as he screamed, and he was out the door before he realized what he was doing.

Obi-Wan opened the door before he knocked, and they stood there, separated by air, Anakin’s chest heaving with just the faded memory of the terrible dreams. Obi-Wan was well. Whole. Unharmed. Dressed for sleep, his hair falling forward. Anakin stared at him, his hands twitching at his sides, held back by the memory of last time he had charged forward and pushed, the way Obi-Wan had avoided him for days afterwards. “Please,” he managed.

Obi-Wan looked at him, his eyes soft, his emotions a tangle of confusion. And then he stepped aside, gesturing Anakin into his quarters, leading Anakin over to his bunk. Anakin curled up against him, his heart slowing fitfully as he tucked his knees behind Obi-Wan’s, feeling him breathe, luxuriating in the physical proof that he was alive and safe. Obi-Wan’s Force signature had grown so bright and large that Anakin felt enveloped by it, contained and held. It chased away the dark shadows in the corners of his thoughts.

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan started, and then stopped. He sighed, settling back against Anakin’s chest. “Sleep well.”

And Anakin did, for a time. But the nightmare crept back, stealing in on the edges of a sweeter dream, where Obi-Wan’s head was thrown back in laughter, the sound turning by sickly degrees into sobs, into screams, into pleas for Anakin that he could not quite seem to make out, as blood poured out over his hands, hot and sticky, clotting as he tried to stop it, as Obi-Wan flinched away, as he screamed and screamed and--

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan snapped, tearing him from the nightmare, leaning up over Anakin in the dark of the room, barely lit by the faint blue light put off from a forgotten data-pad. “What’s--?”

Anakin grabbed him without thought, every instinct in his mind screaming that something had gone wrong, terribly, horribly wrong. He rolled, covering Obi-Wan, calling his lightsaber and holding it defensively, panting hard as he took in the empty room. “Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, quietly, drawing Anakin’s attention back to the injuries, the blood, the screams.

He cried out, a little sound he could not strangle in his throat, and thumbed off the saber, searching for the injuries that he knew were there, finding nothing. He gasped, “You’re alright,” somewhere between shock and relief, and he collapsed over Obi-Wan, mashing his face against Obi-Wan’s neck and waiting for his heart to slow.

“I am,” Obi-Wan said, carefully. He reached up, starting and stopping a half-dozen times, finally sliding a hand across Anakin’s shoulder. “Are you?”

Anakin managed a nod. “It was just.” He had to stop and clear his throat. “Just a dream.”

As it faded he grew increasingly aware that he was sprawled over Obi-Wan, pressed against him, all of the wild energy in his veins happy to redirect itself down more pleasant pathways. He shivered and rolled off, before he lost the battle to open his mouth and suck on Obi-Wan’s skin, to more fully check his current health. He sat, wondering, for the first time, if perhaps sharing a cot had been a mistake.

Obi-Wan moved to sit beside him. He asked, quietly, “Are they premonitions?”

The idea brought bile to the back of Anakin’s throat. “No,” he bit out. “No. I won’t let them be.”

He could _feel_ Obi-Wan’s grimace. “Anakin--”

“No!” Anakin grabbed him, needing him to understand. “I won’t let it happen. I won’t.”

Obi-Wan looked--felt--so sad, then. He touched Anakin’s cheek. He said, softly, “We are in a war, Anakin.”

Anakin shuddered, even as he pushed helplessly into Obi-Wan’s touch. “I won’t let it happen,” he repeated. It was the one thing he knew for sure in the universe, at that moment. It didn’t matter what he had to do to make it true. He’d do anything. “They’re just dreams.”

Obi-Wan stared at him in the near-dark, and then nodded. “Alright,” he said, and he leaned back, guiding Anakin along until they lay curled together once more. “If it is a dream, you must let it go.” Anakin nodded, trying his best to follow the advice, but it was difficult, so difficult. The images stuck, as though they’d been branded onto the insides of his eyelids.

He waited until Obi-Wan appeared to sleep and then kissed his hair, settling his hand over Obi-Wan’s stomach and trying to calm his shattered nerves and the shaking that he could no longer restrain in his hands. Obi-Wan murmured something insensible, and a wave of comfort enveloped Anakin, soothing the ragged edges of his soul. He gasped; it felt like having a terrible infection lanced, and he sank closer to Obi-Wan, hooking his chin over Obi-Wan’s shoulder and holding him tighter.

He fell asleep like that.

#

Obi-Wan woke before Anakin, who clung to him like a creeping vine, grim-faced with determination even in his dreams. One of his hands rested across the skin of Obi-Wan’s stomach, beneath his sleep-wear, humming with the Force. Obi-Wan stared at the wall and frowned, thinking of Anakin’s panic during the night. So, Anakin had dreamed of him in… dire straits, at least twice. Dreamed it vividly enough that it left him distraught. It could have meant nothing. They all had nightmares. It would have been a greater concern if, after all they had seen in the Wars, they did not.

But Anakin also experienced premonitions, there was no way to deny that. He had seen his mother’s death. The future he saw, Obi-Wan’s apparent death, it could occur. Easily. They walked everyday beside death. Sooner or later they would not be able to beat it.

Still, as Master Yoda was fond of reminding them all, the future was always moving and changing. A premonition was not the future written in stone, only a possibility that might never come to pass. Anakin would cling to that--clung to it already. He would refuse to accept even the chance that it would occur. In itself, that reaction was not a problem. But if he focused too hard, too single-mindedly on his goal, he could bring it about. It had happened before, to other Jedi.

Obi-Wan sighed, shifting, and Anakin tightened his grip reflexively, to the point of discomfort. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and elbowed back, murmuring in complaint, “Anakin.”

“Mm?” Anakin did not sound awake, but at least the tension in his muscles eased slightly. He nuzzled sleepily against Obi-Wan’s neck and made another sound, dark, interested; his hand twitched on Obi-Wan’s stomach and then pulled, tucking Obi-Wan back firmly against the cradle of his hips, where he--

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan hissed again, feeling his skin heat in a blush. Anakin mumbled a drowsy reply and rocked his hips, sending a fission of unexpected pleasure up Obi-Wan’s spine, and, as though he sensed it, Anakin stirred, intention coming to his movements as he slid his hand down, pressing a sleepy kiss to Obi-Wan’s neck.

And it felt good. Force, but it still did, as though everything in his body were clicking into place.

But it wasn’t--they couldn’t--

He grabbed Anakin’s wrist, Anakin’s hand was already well below his waistband, and managed a single strangled sound of protest.

Anakin froze. He breathed, for a second, against Obi-Wan’s throat, and then sat up hurriedly. “Sorry,” he said, hoarse. “Sorry, I didn’t mean, uh, you know. That.”

Obi-Wan sat up more slowly, watching Anakin’s shoulders. Perhaps sharing a bed had _not_ been the wisest choice. He sighed, and as though Anakin had sensed the thoughts, he said, “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “I’m not--”

And they were interrupted by the comm, by Rex’s voice, saying, “General, we’ve found the Death Watch ship. I think you should come up to the bridge.”

#

Anakin stood on the bridge, still carrying the memory of Obi-Wan’s body pressed warm and perfect against his. He tried to tuck the sense-memories away, but they kept creeping back, every time he thought he had successfully dismissed them. He should have been thinking about the Death Watch ship, racing away through hyperspace and steadily losing ground.

Ahsoka gestured at it, a smile sitting on her mouth. “We’re gaining on them,” she said, pleased. “We’ll be able to overtake them before they reach Mandalore.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, frowning at the maps projected before them. “They’ll undoubtedly have reinforcements there.”

“So what’s the plan?” Padme asked. She’d acquired two blasters, somewhere, and looked prepared to storm the ship on her own. Anakin wondered if Satine would yell at her, after the rescue, for her easy use of violence. He figured that Padme could probably provide better arguments to justify her actions than Anakin could manage--he’d never been as skilled with words as she was, and he had no great interest in defending necessary actions.

Anakin shrugged. “We’ll be able to pull them out of hyperspace soon, here’d be a good place.” He gestured at the diagrams. “Quiet. Empty. They won’t be able to hide. We’ll have to get aboard and in position quickly. You think they won’t try to kill her, even if we board them?” He directed the question to Obi-Wan.

“They’ll keep her alive,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin nodded. “Alright, then here’s what I think we should do.”

#

Vizsla stormed into the tiny cell where they were keeping Satine, fury twisting his expression into an ugly rictus. And Satine knew, then, through the haze of whatever they were pumping into her veins, that Obi-Wan had come for her. Only he could make someone look _so_ angry, without even being in the same room. She smiled, weakly.

“What did you do?” Vizsla snarled, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. She hung in his grasp, the drugs in her system preventing her from resisting, from even holding her head straight, certainly from speaking. He shook her again. It hurt. “How did you contact them? How did you--”

He stopped then, breathing hard, and dropped her back to the cold floor. She had to lay as she fell, her muscles unresponsive. Even the indignity and pain of it could not manage to erase the curve of her smile.

“It doesn’t matter,” Vizsla continued, finally. He’d pulled out the darksaber once more, moving it back and forth, as though its possession granted him the strength and intelligence he sorely lacked. “You hear me? It doesn’t matter this time. Your _rescue_ will be a failure.”

Satine worked to convey, with the few working muscles she had left, that she doubted that to be the case. She must have gotten the message across well enough, because Vizsla snarled. “You think I’m bluffing?” He barked a laugh. “I planned for this. Let your Jedi come. They’ll never take you back alive.” He turned off the darksaber and dangled it before her, like some kind of explanation. His smile grew colder and crueler.

“Do you see this?” He gestured at a steady red light on the handle. “I’ve rigged it to the ship. If they somehow manage to kill me, the entire thing will vent to space.”

She felt her eyes widen, unexpected horror running down the back of her neck. “Yes,” he said. “I can see that you understand where this is going. There’s no way I lose, _Duchess_. Either I strike your Jedi down and drag you back to answer for what you’ve reduced us to, or he kills me, and you all die anyway. One way or another, I am freeing Mandalore from your insanity.”

He stepped back then, clipping the darksaber to his belt. He smiled, smug and hateful.

She wanted to scream at him, to rail against this insanity, but her tongue would not budge.

Vizsla backed out of her cell, grinning still, motioning some of the guards forward. “Bring her,” he said. “Let’s set up an… appropriate welcome, for our visitors.”

#

They managed to pull the Death Watch ship out of hyperspace with an ease that was, frankly, a little disconcerting. Anakin frowned from where they waited to board the vessel, his nerves strung tight and the world alive in the way it only was right before a fight. Ahsoka waited beside him, checking her sabers one last time. She said, quietly, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Anakin nodded. “You and me both, Snips.” But what else could they do? They _had_ to go get the Duchess. She was on the other ship. Their path was fairly straight-forward. He still cut an anxious glance at Padme--armed and grim-faced--and Obi-Wan, sitting calmly and ignoring the rest of them. Anakin blew out a breath and moved to sit beside him. “You could stay here,” he said, not hopeful that the recommendation would be well-received.

“I couldn’t,” Obi-Wan corrected, and Anakin sighed. “Beside, there can’t be that many of them. Look at the ship.”

Anakin nodded, unconvinced. He comforted himself with the knowledge that in the nightmares, Obi-Wan was not wearing his current set of robes. It was not a premonition, he refused to believe it could be, but even if it _were_ , it could not come to pass during the fast-approaching mission. And Obi-Wan would have to survive this rescue attempt for the not-premonition to come to pass, so Anakin tried to release his anxiety.

He had limited success, until Obi-Wan reached out and took his hand.

Anakin luxuriated in the touch for a moment, and then turned his hand palm up, threading their fingers together. He felt eyes on them, and looked up to find Rex staring, a look of thoughtful consideration on his face. When he noticed Anakin’s attention, he looked away, clearing his throat.

“Get ready,” their pilot called, his voice tight. “Here goes nothing.”

#

They boarded the Death Watch vessel through a hatch helpfully hacked by R2, who warbled encouragement at them as they hurried by. Padme’s heart beat in her throat, concern and dread and the excitement of battle acting as a heady mixture in her brain. She followed a step behind Ahsoka, sticking to the plan even though the idea of splitting apart sat heavy in her gut. She tried to take comfort in the fact that Obi-Wan had been so convinced Satine would live, but it was difficult when so many worst-case-scenarios swarmed behind her eyes.

The halls of the ship passed in a blur, what little resistance they came across was pitiful and easy to put down. Padme frowned, her stomach squirming, and whispered, “I feel like this is a trap.”

Ahsoka nodded, like that was something obvious. “Well, you know what Master Obi-Wan says about traps.”

Padme shifted her grip on her blaster. “I don’t, actually.”

Ahsoka flashed her a grin over one shoulder. “He says they’re there to be sprung.” That did not sound like something Obi-Wan would say, but then, he’d always been a wilder force on the battlefield than she anticipated. “Come on.”

By the time they reached the large hangar at the rear of the ship, the back of Padme’s shirt clung to her skin with nervous sweat. The hangar was dark, except for a single beam of light in the center. It illuminated Satine, washing the color from her hair and skin. She lay in a pile, chains on her wrists and her neck. She did not stir. For a moment, Padme thought she was not breathing, and a slow, terrible horror built in her chest. She wanted to charge forward, but Ahsoka held up a hand, and they crept into the hanger slowly.

Their speed, apparently, did not matter. As soon as they entered, and before more than one of the troopers could join them, the doors snapped shut.

Somewhere in the darkness, someone started clapping.

“Here we go,” Ahsoka said, grim. “Get the Duchess ready! I’ll distract them!” And she leapt forward, her lightsabers springing to brilliant light in the darkness.

Rex cursed at Padme’s back, moving to support Ahsoka. Padme was happy to follow her instructions. She darted across the empty space, towards Satine.

#

Things went sideways. Of course they did. That was just how things went, in Anakin’s experience. They ran through the ship, moving to the floor above the location where Obi-Wan sensed Satine’s presence--something that Anakin was _not_ going to be irritated about. “Get ready,” Anakin called, plunging his lightsaber into the floor. From below, he could hear no sounds of fighting, the ship was too well made, but he could feel Ahsoka, her emotions all lit up with battle, focused and not fearful. He shot Obi-Wan a look as his circle neared completion. “I’m not going to drop this on the Duchess, right?”

Obi-Wan waited to the side, lightsaber in hand, his head cocked, his expression calm. “No,” he sounded far away. “She’s over there.” He gestured to one side. “And she is _extremely_ concerned. We need to hurry.”

“Right.” Anakin finished his makeshift entrance and shoved it down with the Force. The sounds of lightsabers and blaster bolts flooded upward immediately. “Be careful.” He could afford to say no more than that. If he tried, Obi-Wan would just take the opportunity to jump down into the madness first. “Get ready to get her out of here,” he ordered the troopers crouching around the hole, and then he leapt.

It was not far to fall. It barely gave him enough time to locate Ahsoka’s sabers. She fought near the center of the dark room, trading blows with a man who held a saber that was, well. Black. The darksaber. It had to be. Blaster shots poured in from the sides of the room. Sithspit, the man must have had his entire crew in the room, just waiting for them. Anakin snarled, moving to block the shots that might have hit Obi-Wan, as he landed in a compact crouch. “Shall we?” he asked.

Obi-Wan met his gaze and nodded. “We shall.”

They closed on Vizsla, deflecting blasters as they moved. “There you two are,” Ahsoka called, flipping back away from a wild strike. “Did you stop for drinks?”

Vizsla sneered at them, holding his weapon like a talisman. He gaze skipped from one of his opponents to the next, judging and, apparently, finding them wanting. “You challenge me with three _omegas_?” Vizsla asked, as he swung the darksaber around like a child with a toy. Mockery and scorn dripped off of his tongue. “Do you seek to defeat me with shame?”

“I wouldn’t have anyone else at my side,” Anakin said, and the words were almost painfully true. Who else in the universe would he trust more in a fight than Obi-Wan and Ahsoka? And Padme could more than hold her own, for all that she spent most of the time fighting in the political arena. Vizsla spat in disgust, casting Ahsoka a dismissive look.

“It’s no wonder you people are so weak.”

He was either an idiot, or he had some kind of trap prepared that hadn’t been sprung yet, because Padme had already managed to free Satine. The Duchess remained limp and still. Padme dragged her across the floor, towards the rope the troopers had dropped from the ceiling, and Anakin nodded to Ahsoka. She moved to protect the civilians. She ensured none of the blaster bolts managed to bring a premature end to their rescue.

Obi-Wan circled Vizsla, batting away the bolts that fired at them _still_. Anakin could sense a lot of soldiers around them, hiding in the darkness. He shrugged, “Are you sure _you_ want to talk about weakness? We walked right in here.”

Vizsla’s expression darkened and he drew his lips away from his teeth, scowling. “You won’t walk out again!”

Anakin flashed a smile of his own. Padme had reached the escape route, lowering the Duchess to the floor and hastily tying her into the harness. “I’d sincerely like to see you try and stop us.”

Vizsla snarled and nodded into the shadows, and the time to trade barbs passed, just like that. The room devolved into the retort of blasters, the stench of them in the air soon joined by the screams of the injured. Vizsla went for the Duchess, thinking, perhaps, that Anakin was distracted. Anakin yanked him back with the Force, deflecting bolts. Ahsoka jumped from one wall to the other, batting back any shots aimed towards the Duchess as she rose quickly towards the ceiling, pulled upward by the strength of the troopers.

“Get up there!” Vizsla ordered his troops. “Cut them off!” And then he pointed the tip of the darksaber at Anakin and snarled, “Release me now.”

Anakin smirked at him. Behind him, the doors to the hanger opened again. Soldiers made to hurry out, only to find Obi-Wan blocking their way. It wouldn’t do to allow them to interrupt the rescue up above, after all. “Make me.”

Vizsla roared and lunged for him, the darksaber slicing through the air with a strange hum, the blade absorbing the light of the room as the troopers pulled Satine over the edge of the hole and tossed the rope back down. Padme scrambled up the escape rope, pausing occasionally to fire down into the guards below. Anakin allowed himself a small smile. Things weren’t going _that_ terribly.

Really, that should have been warning enough for him.

#

Hands pulled Satine through a hole obviously carved by a lightsaber and hurriedly untied the harness she’d been strapped into. She wanted to cry out, startled by the figures surrounding her, dressed in white, armed with blasters. But she could not move her tongue, and, after a second, her confusion passed.

She recognized the armor. Clone troopers. Of course.

The men standing all around her moved crisply and efficiently, working in synch with one another. One lifted her, pulling her against cold white armor and moving her away from the hole and any stray blaster bolts that might have found their way to her. His touch was impersonal, not but cruel. She blinked up at him and could not recall his name, or even if she had ever met him before. The other troopers leaned over and fired down into the hangar without hesitation, and Satine winced, hating the violence perpetrated on her behalf, hating the truth of Vizsla’s words.

If they killed for her, was it really any different from killing with her own two hands? Did she not benefit from the actions of these people, though they cost the lives of others? She had not asked for the rescue, but had she not invited Padme to Mandalore and shown her the troubles afflicting the planet? Had she not known that Obi-Wan would come? Had she not known that his alpha--for Satine could see the connection there, even if, for some reason, no one else seemed obliged to acknowledge it--was a man with hands covered in an ocean of blood?

They would not stop, she realized, as Padme climbed through the hole, twisting back to fire down at the soldiers below. Even if she ordered it. Even if she _could_ order it. They were not her people, she had no authority over them. And neither, in any case, could she ask them to stand there and die for her principles. They could only die for their own. Or, perhaps, for those of the Republic, forced upon them.

“Time to go, Duchess,” the troopers holding her said, carrying her down the hall as though she weighed nothing. “We’ve got a ship waiting to take you home.”

She tried to choke out a warning, again, to tell him about what Vizsla planned, just as she had tried to tell Padme. The drugs coursed too strongly through her system, preventing the words from escaping. The most she could manage was a weak glance back towards the hangar, her fingers scrambling across the trooper’s armor as she tried to pull herself away.

“Oh, don’t worry, they’ll catch up,” the trooper said, and it sounded like he smiled--he did not understand. None of them understood. She could not make them. She sent her thoughts at Obi-Wan, he had _always_ seemed to understand her, even when she could not speak the truth of her thoughts. She wondered if that remained true. Tears stung at the backs of her eyes. “They always do.”

#

Vizsla had lost to Obi-Wan, all on his own, the first time they met. The man fared far worse when faced with three Jedi, even after Ahsoka leapt up through the escape hole, following the plan to escort the Duchess out, offering any additional protection she might need. Hopefully there would be little resistance. The entire crew appeared to be in the hanger, distracted by Anakin and Obi-Wan.

Even Vizsla realized he was outmatched, as they danced around him, the understanding that he would face certain defeat dawning in his crazed eyes. “Stand down,” Obi-Wan said, the Force saturating the words, pushing at Vizsla’s thoughts. “It’s over.”

Vizsla shook off the compulsion with a roar of fury, his attacks merciless and fierce. “You dare try your tricks on me?” he screamed, his attention directed towards Obi-Wan for the first time. Perhaps he had forgotten about his belief that omegas were such unworthy adversaries--he usually did, sooner or later. “You are weak! A weak failure, who will not stand against me again!” His blows were wild, but backed by considerable strength. Still, they could be blocked. Obi-Wan was happy to hold his attention, it would allow the others to gain better position, to complete the rescue mission. For a moment he was separated by Anakin, as members of the Death Watch charged forward, screaming with fury, adding to the madness of the hangar.

Anakin called his name as the movement of battle pushed them further apart.

“You will never take Mandalore,” Obi-Wan goaded, dancing away from the flurry of strikes the words prompted, deflecting each one. He could see Anakin, across the room, a blur in the middle of a crowd of Death Watch soldiers, unwarranted desperation in each of his movements. He cut them down as though his sole consideration were ending the fight. He moved like a storm, beautiful and destructive--distracting.

Vizsla recaptured Obi-Wan’s attention, snarling, “I am going to cut you into pieces, Jedi.” He had lost what little calm remained to him. Sweat ran down his face and his eyes shone with a fanatical inner glow. Each blow seemed harder than the last, faster, fed by some terribly berserker rage, even as his voice grew as cold as ice. He spoke almost dreamily. “I am going to make a present of your head to Satine,” he spat the name, “before I kill her. But not your silver tongue. The Republic can have that. I will send your hands to your precious Order. I will split open your ribs and reach into your chest and--”

And a lightsaber stabbed out through the front of his throat, flesh sizzling around the green blade, before Anakin twitched his wrist. Vizsla’s mouth gaped open, no further sound escaping, and his head toppled off to one side, landing on the floor with a meaty thunk. Obi-Wan stared, his saber still up in a guard, panting, as Vizsla’s corpse dropped the darksaber, which clattered to the floor, the strange glow at the base of the handle blinking twice before going black.

Anakin shoved the corpse to the side, ignoring the thump of it into the ground. His eyes were wild. Behind him, bodies covered the deck.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said, preemptively, but Anakin was already there, grabbing him, the ritual of his hands checking for injuries almost expected. “Anakin, I’m….” On the ground, the darksaber beeped, softly. And then the ship jolted under their feet, once, twice, again and again, throwing them sideways as the artificial gravity failed. “What’s…?”

“It’s depressurizing!” Anakin yelled, his hands still twisted in Obi-Wan’s tunic, holding him close as they floated away from the floor. “If it keeps up, it’ll--”

And that was when the gaping maw of space started pulling on all the precious air inside the ship.

#

Vizsla had used a dead man’s switch, the utter bastard. He’d rigged the ship to kill them all, should he fail, and they’d been too foolish to see it coming. Anakin spat a curse at the man’s corpse, but that was all he had time to do. They were rapidly losing their air. Who knew how much of the ship had vented already. Escape had to take priority.

The lack of gravity would make everything more difficult. But that was what the Force was for. He secured a grip on Obi-Wan--he was _not_ losing him, not here--and reached out to the nearest door, pulling them towards it. Obi-Wan reached back, calling the darksaber to his hand, and caught on quickly, adding his strength, and they made it, bracing themselves--

Just as the bulkhead across from them buckled, torn apart by the force of the decompression, revealing nothing but the cold black emptiness of space.

What remained of the oxygen in the ship rushed out around them, buffeting their bodies, trying to knock them out into the void. Anakin gripped the edge of the ship with his mechanical hand, feeling the metal give under his fingers, and clung to Obi-Wan with his other arm, waiting for the worst to pass. It took only seconds, leaving them hanging onto the ship in a terrible quiet, with cold and pressure squeezing around them.

They would die, soon. Already the pain was severe. The body was not meant to survive in the vacuum of space. At least, not theirs. And the baby-- _no_.

Anakin shoved the thoughts away. Couldn’t consider them. They would kill him. He had to get Obi-Wan back to their ship, and he had to do it quickly.

Obi-Wan tugged at him, gesturing down the tortured exterior of the ship. Anakin nodded. They had no better options, no choice but to pull themselves along, scrambling across the metal in a mad attempt to reach safety and sweet oxygen. Anakin’s pulse beat against his eyes, his skin. Force, it hurt. The air in his lungs was all used up, sour, useless. The oxygen in his blood was burning away to nothing.

Spots swam in front of his vision, distracting but not enough to conceal their ship. It waited for them, separated by an expanse of blackness. The depressurizations must have pushed the Death Watch vessel away, leaving several hundred feet between the two ships, a distance that seemed utterly impassable at that moment. Anakin would have yelled in frustration, had he any air to do so.

He tightened his fingers into Obi-Wan’s robes, terror burning through what remained of his reserves. His mate--his child--he couldn’t—

He wove the Force around them, as best he could, intent on offering some protection, though the effort blackened his vision. His grip loosened. He could not think. But maybe, maybe, if he gave Obi-Wan enough strength, he would be able to make the leap, be able to--

The world faded. He could not feel it any longer. He made himself release Obi-Wan, because Obi-Wan could not drag them both to safety, and he had to survive, he had to, he….

#

Anakin went limp against Obi-Wan, a difficult distinction to make in the emptiness of space. Obi-Wan tore his attention away from their ship, so terribly far away, and found Anakin simply floating, boneless, beside him. His eyes were open, but sightless. His life, in the Force, was a weak, flickering thing, threatening to gutter out.

Panic granted Obi-Wan a surge of terror he did not need.

He could not cry out, there was no air to do it. He could do nothing but grapple Anakin, and curse his lanky frame, holding on tight, afraid of what would happen if he lost his grip in that moment. There was no more time to plan the angle of his jump, to consider how best to reach the other ship. Anakin was dying. He could _feel_ it, the weak flutter of his heart seemed to echo in Obi-Wan’s ears. And yet, he still felt Anakin with him, his presence in the Force strong and close and--

And what had Anakin _done_?

There was no time to puzzle it out.

Obi-Wan dipped his knees, looked across at the ship, and pushed with every bit of strength and the Force that he could muster, sending them both spiraling into the void, into nothing, with only the hope that he had generated enough momentum to get them to the ship before they died. He had tried to aim for an emergency hatch.

The ship seemed to approach so slowly. They _drifted_ towards it, like motes of dust caught on a slow-moving breeze. Obi-Wan’s lungs burned. His eyes stung. His skin throbbed. In his arms, Anakin was limp, unmoving. He did not think he had the strength to open the hatch, and, in the blackness of the void, with nothing living to draw on, the Force felt far away. Distant. Impossible to reach.

He would have to try. He would have to find a way. But the blackness came for him, the emptiness of space drawing away the living heat from his flesh, suffocating him. His body screamed. They were so close to the hatch. If he could just…

And the hatch opened, spilling light out into the dark of space, a familiar silhouette reaching towards them, grabbing ahold of them with the Force and pulling…

He landed hard, in the hall beyond the emergency hatch, artificial gravity reestablishing its welcome hold with a painful embrace. He tried to suck in a breath, hopelessly, the hall not yet pressurized, and choked, his vision swimming, his heart pounding a terrible tattoo against his ribs. The lights were too bright. There were voices, but he couldn’t understand them, he needed air, he needed--

And then it was there, rushing into the space around his skin, and he glutted himself on it, gulping it down, coughing and gasping and choking. He lay on the floor. Anakin’s body was cold and limp against him, unresponsive when Obi-Wan lurched up, pulling him over. Spots swam in front of his vision, but they could not hide the fact that Anakin looked like a corpse, still and pale and empty.

_No!_

Obi-Wan gagged on the sweet air, curling over Anakin, pinching his nose closed and covering his mouth, pushing the air from his starving lungs into Anakin’s limp body. Hands pulled at his shoulders; he shoved them away. Someone yelled something, but all language was a buzz. He harvested the air, he gave it to Anakin, and his mind went terribly, terribly quiet, empty, with nothing to fill it but a raw panic such as he had only felt a few times and--

And he was lifted, torn away from his task. He cried out, unable to hear himself, fighting against all the hands that restrained him-- Did they not see? Could they not understand? He needed to-- He needed-- He heard himself, then, the sound of Anakin’s name twisted into something raw and cracking through his injured throat.

And Anakin’s eyes snapped opened, and he reached out, impossibly fast, and his fingers closed, like a vice, around Obi-Wan’s wrist.

#

_Obi-Wan was screaming for him_.

The thought arrived with all the subtlety of a bolt of Force lightning, grounding itself in the emptiness of Anakin’s mind and filling all of the unused space, reverberating back and forth, becoming, for an instant, all that existed in the world.

He sounded frightened, hurt. He sounded the way he did in Anakin’s dreams.

The realization burned through Anakin’s mind, through the heaviness of his body, through the tightness in his chest, through the pain, through thought, through _everything_.

He jerked awake, unsure when he had passed to unconsciousness, and there was light and sound and heat, all of it overwhelming. He sensed other people, their lives hot and bright in the Force. And he heard Obi-Wan, calling for him. His body moved without the need for any sort of thought, instinct taking over where his mind had failed.

He grabbed Obi-Wan, caught his wrist and yanked and, when others tried to resist, he snarled and shoved them back with the Force, satisfied by the sounds they made when they hit the far wall. Everything felt like a threat. He could not seem to breathe enough to satisfy his lungs. His heart jumped arrhythmically in his chest. But he managed to shove Obi-Wan back, to plant his body on front of mate and child-- _family_ \--and then all he needed was a weapon.

His lightsaber sprang to his hand, and he ignited it, snarling a challenge to the blurred figures around them.

#

Padme skidded to a stop in the hall outside the emergency hatch, her heart still pumping from the desperate run to escape the Death Watch ship as it unexpectedly depressurized. The entire event was a blur that had culminated in the realization that neither Anakin nor Obi-Wan had made it back onto their ship. The troopers had been gearing up for a rescue when Ahsoka jerked her head up and tore down the hall, yelling something about needing to open a hatch.

The Padawan had an impressive turn of speed. Padme had lost her around a corner and had to resort to following the yelling to eventually find her again.

By the time she caught up, the hatch had been opened and closed once more. Anakin lay limp on the floor, still in a way that Padme had seen too many times, always before a burial, and Obi-Wan knelt over him, gulping at the air and bending to force it into Anakin’s lungs, though he looked near to collapse himself. Ahsoka tried to pull him back, and he shoved at her impatiently, ignoring everything else in the room until two of the troopers grabbed him and bodily lifted him away, a third moving into place to treat Anakin.

The next few seconds were madness.

Obi-Wan yelled for Anakin, and Anakin’s eyes snapped open, his chest expanded, he _moved_. It was like watching a corpse rise from the grave, startling enough that Padme jerked back a step, smothering a cry of alarm. That was before Anakin threw the troopers into the wall, before he shoved Obi-Wan behind his back, before he drew his saber and stared them down with reddened, barely-focusing eyes, breathing so hard that his entire body shook with it.

It answered a question Padme had not felt the need to ask, about how, exactly, Anakin felt about Obi-Wan.

“Master, stop!” Ahsoka ordered, placing herself between the troopers and Anakin’s lightsaber. “It’s fine now! It’s over!” She sounded… not unlike she had been forced to shout similar reminders in the past.

Anakin jerked his head toward her voice and blinked at her, the shaking in his limbs growing worse. He slurred, “Ahsoka?” and thumbed off his lightsaber, sagging down all at once. Obi-Wan attempted to steady him, but looked little stronger. They both ended up collapsed against the wall, gulping at the air. Padme did not fail to notice Obi-Wan’s arm around Anakin’s chest, or the grip Anakin maintained on Obi-Wan’s wrist, holding him in place, not even when Anakin managed a weak smile and wheezed, “Glad to see you made it.”

#

They were taken to the infirmary, despite any attempts to protest. Anakin felt fine, comparatively. Nothing was broken, and there was nothing they were going to be able to do about his temporary suffocation. That had already been handled. He sat through the fussing for as long as he could bear, trying to hide his trembling hands in his robes and failing.

“It’s the adrenaline,” the medic told him, with a little flick of his eyes towards Anakin’s shaking fingers. “Never seen levels this high. Must have been what woke you up. It’ll fade, in a little while.”

“Woke me up?” The escape from the ship remained blurry in his memory. He knew they’d had an unplanned spacewalk. He knew he’d done the math and determined they couldn’t both survive. He knew he’d passed what strength he had to Obi-Wan. Everything after that was a blank, until he had blinked over at Ahsoka and realized he had, somehow, lived in spite of everything. His chest still hurt and his eyes stung. He felt extremely cold.

The physical discomfort didn’t matter, really. Obi-Wan lived, too. He sat two tables over, complaining about his medical care. Anakin stared at him, losing track of the conversation. He had been exposed to space for so long. Surely the stress of it would have been too much. Fear twisted around in Anakin’s guts. He could reach out with the Force, search for the extra glow that represented the pregnancy. But he could not--if it was lost, he did not know how he would--

He could not bear to find out. He was grateful when the medic continued, “You were down and out, sir. Not even breathing, despite General Kenobi’s efforts. Never seen someone come back like you did.” The man shook his head. “Is it another Jedi thing?”

Anakin looked down at his shaking hands. “Yeah,” he murmured, lying. He did not know _what_ it was. “I guess.”

The medics made all the appropriate sounds about keeping them overnight, just to make sure they were fine, and Anakin nodded along, ignoring it. He scrubbed at his burning eyes when the medic wandered off to harass some other poor soul, and looked up when the back of his neck prickled. The Duchess Satine stood beside his bed. She looked better than she had on the Death Watch ship, but her skin still had a gray tint to it. “General Skywalker,” she said, and her voice was a painful rasp. It sounded like she’d gargled acid. He’d already forgotten what the medic said she’d been dosed with.  “You are recovered?”

Anakin shrugged. “Close enough. You?”

She hummed, leaning against the bed. She looked different with her hair all down loose around her shoulders. There was significantly more of it than he’d anticipated. She tucked some of it behind her ear, looked across the medical bay to where Obi-Wan sat, submitting to a scan of his mid-section, and said, “He told me once that he would have left the Order, if I only asked him.”

Anakin stiffened, flat anger flooding his thoughts in an instant. He snapped, “That time has passed.”

She sighed. “For he and I, yes. I was not threatening your...interest.” She glanced down to where his hand had drifted towards his saber, and continued, “I was offering you _advice_.”

Anakin stared at her. He sensed nothing but exhaustion and goodwill from her, but that meant little. She hadn’t gotten where she was by being careless with her emotions. And he disliked speaking with her about Obi-Wan. He said, “I don’t think he feels that way anymore.” Obi-Wan was frustratingly devoted to the Order, as Anakin had found out the hard way. If he would just give in a little, they could...

“Have you asked?” Her question stirred him from his thoughts.

“What? For us to leave the Order?” Anakin snorted a laugh, unnerved when she just continued to stare at him calmly. He shifted, discomfited. “No, of course not. That’s. That’s not just not possible. I can’t leave.”

She cocked her head to the side, pale eyes narrowing. “Why?”

It seemed impossible to explain why that couldn’t happen. He… had to be a Jedi. It had been Qui-Gon’s dying wish that he was trained. And he was the Chosen One, meant to bring balance to the Force. He couldn’t leave, he’d realized that years ago, when he _had_ dreamed of it, of setting down his lightsaber and sneaking out of the Temple. But those were the fantasies of a child. He was tied to the Order, and he needed it, in any case. He would have power, once he made it to the Council. He’d be able to change things, make things better. Fix foolish rules, free them from the influence of the Senate, direct the Jedi as a group to address all the injustices in the galaxy… He scowled. “I just can’t.”

She sighed, then, soft and pitying. “Then you will lose him.”

“You don’t know--”

She cut him a look so chilly it made his jaw snap shut. “Lie to yourself,” she said, “if you must. But spare me from it.”

Padme finished her conference with the medics, then, and started towards them, casting Anakin a chiding look as she approached. “Duchess,” she said, softly, “you’re supposed to be resting.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, planning to let her know that her concern for _him_ was appreciated, but Obi-Wan stood then, waving away the hands that reached out to steady him as he headed stubbornly for the door. Anakin dodged past Padme and Satine, staging his own escape and catching up with Obi-Wan in the hall. Obi-Wan glanced across at him and emotions dashed across his signature in the Force--relief, worry, pleasure, a half-dozen more, too tangled to unravel. “I’m going to rest,” he said, his voice still shredded from their trip through space. He had been more affected than Anakin, it seemed. Anakin’s unconsciousness had spared him some of the stress of the exposure.

Anakin nodded. He did not want to be apart from Obi-Wan, not then, not with the strange tension in his gut that had lingered, unabated, since he woke from unconsciousness--or death, to hear the medics talk. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, and then nodded, sparring his throat a reply. They walked through the halls beside one another. When Obi-Wan turned into his quarters, Anakin followed, and they stood there, not quite looking at one another.

“The baby?” Anakin managed to ask, finally, the question he had not been able to voice where anyone else might have possibly overheard.

“Undamaged,” Obi-Wan said, cocking his head to the side. The relief of the simple word hit Anakin hard, in the pit of his stomach. He steadied himself on the wall, the shake returning to his fingers, just for a second. “Can’t you feel it?”

Anakin swallowed around the thickness in his throat, the ache in his ribs. “I…” He managed a brittle smile aimed at the floor. “I was--if it wasn’t I didn’t want to--if I _felt_ it, and--”

Obi-Wan stared at him as he strangled to a stop. His eyes were still reddened from their exposure to the vacuum. His hair hung lank and a trickle of blood had dried below his nose. He stepped forward and took Anakin’s hand, making no comment about the tremble. He took a bracing breath and placed Anakin’s palm on his stomach. “The child is fine,” he promised, and Anakin allowed himself, finally, to reach out with the Force, to satisfy his need to ensure all was well, to feel the wellspring of the Force, strong and bright and clear.

Relief blossomed through him, and he made a sound like a sob, shuffling closer, until he could press his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan threaded fingers into his hair, cradling the back of his head. Wild emotion pounded against Anakin’s temples. Relief and fear and want tangled together, forming a knot he could not begin to unravel.

“Come here,” Obi-Wan said, eventually, and walked backwards, leading Anakin to the little cot. They shed their tunics, both too tired to do anything more to prepare to sleep. Anakin held him close, his mind crowded with words he didn’t know how to speak and fuzzy with exhaustion. Tomorrow. All the words would have to wait until tomorrow.

“Sleep,” Obi-Wan told him, low and soothing, and Anakin nodded muzzily, and closed his eyes, and slept.

#

Anakin slept without nightmares, or, at least, he had none that woke Obi-Wan. It meant that aches and pains prodded Obi-Wan to wakefulness, come the morning. He shifted with a wince, anticipating Anakin’s grumbled protest and tightened grip. He had grown used to sharing his cot, and quickly. Already it did not feel all that strange to find Anakin’s arm slung across him, the heat of his body keeping the chill of the ship at bay.

Obi-Wan smothered a yawn. He would need to contact the Council, and say more than two words to Satine. They would need to return her to Mandalore--they should have been close to arriving. All the duties of the day stretched out before him, but he was warm and sore and he could spare a few moments to rest, surely?

Or, perhaps he could not.

Anakin stirred, as though woken by Obi-Wan’s thoughts, grumbling nonsense words against Obi-Wan’s shoulder and punctuating them with a soft brush of his lips. Gooseflesh rose across Obi-Wan’s skin; he grabbed Anakin’s wrist before his hand could slide anywhere it ought not, and said, quietly, “Good morning.”

“Mm,” Anakin mumbled. “Already?”

“I’m afraid so.” He sat up, and looked down at Anakin, tangled in the blankets. It was a mistake. He knew too well the scars Anakin bore, now. He remembered skimming a touch over the hook of raised flesh over Anakin’s ribs and curling his fingers against the remains of the lashings on Anakin’s back, clinging while Anakin thrust in--

He looked away. He should get up, before he caused any issues, and Anakin said, “Do you think the war is over?”

Obi-Wan frowned, settling back against the mattress. Anakin sounded… lost. Confused. Perhaps those emotions were to be expected, after the length and brutality of the war. He shrugged. “I don’t know. If not, I think it will be soon. We have removed Dooku from the field and the Separatists suffered huge losses above Coruscant. I’m afraid it’ll be in the Senate’s hands now. They will have to negotiate with whoever is left from the Separatists...” He waved a hand, tired just thinking about it.

Anakin frowned, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. “But Grievous is still out there. And Dooku’s master remains at large.”

Obi-Wan hummed. “A problem. But they will soon lack what’s left of their armies.”

“I don’t remember what it was like before the war,” Anakin said, after a moment. His voice was quiet, confessional. The words stung, but it made them no less true. Anakin had been so young when the galaxy went mad. Obi-Wan stared at him, aching below his ribs, and reached out, touching his arm carefully.

“It is hard to imagine peace,” Obi-Wan admitted. So many worlds had been touched and ruined. So many lives had been lost. So much time had been spent focused on death and destruction. He would not regret the end of the hostilities.

Anakin’s expression broke, then, into something lost and sad. “What will we do?” he asked. “If it’s over?”

Obi-Wan stared down at him, looking for answers and finding few. To be truthful, he had difficulty remembering peace, as well. It had been ever hard to come by, in his life. War had not existed on such a grand scale during his childhood, but how many battlefields had he followed Qui-Gon onto? How many little wars, hellish enough on their own, had he been a part of? “Rest,” he said, finally.

“I don’t remember what that’s like, either,” Anakin said, and he sat up, scrubbing at his face. For a moment they sat, and then he reached out, and tugged on a strand of Obi-Wan’s hair. A cautious smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I like seeing you like this.”

Obi-Wan snorted, wishing he had not removed his tunic. He could _feel_ the blush on his skin. “Messy?” he asked, abandoning the cot and the intimacy, before it tempted him beyond his ability to bear it. Already his emotions were in a tumult, as they had been since he had thought Anakin would not breathe again. It was best not to think about it.

“Warm,” Anakin corrected, standing. “Sleepy. Half-dressed.”

“Anakin,” he protested, turning. He expected to find Anakin looking at him with heat, but Anakin’s expression was grim and thoughtful. A furrow had formed between his brows, and his emotions felt tangled.

“What would you do, if you weren’t a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan stopped in the middle of pulling on a fresh tunic, left with no choice but to stare. “I--I don’t know.” Once, the answer would have been serve as a farmer, but he had not wanted that path at the time and that had not changed. Once, he might have said he would have stayed at Satine’s side, but that time had passed, as well. He saw how she looked at Senator Amidala. “Perhaps try to find some way to help the clones. If the war _is_ over, they will be…” he trailed off, wincing. They were ill-equipped to deal with a world without a war to fight. They would need assistance finding places to live, careers…. Force, just the thought of it was a nightmare.

The tangle of Anakin’s emotions flared with a wave of jealousy, adding to the myriad feelings he was already juggling, and he turned aside with a sudden scowl. “You could work with Cody. He’d like that.”

Obi-Wan frowned, a headache building at his temples. “I’m not planning to give up being a Jedi.”

Anakin sighed, pulling on his old tunic with a grimace of distaste. Obi-Wan thought the strange discussion to be shelved, but Anakin glanced over at him. “But would you? Potentially?”

The question caught him off-balance. He stared, confused about why Anakin would ask, and almost _hopeful,_ and shamed by that hope. He shrugged. “Potentially.” Anakin stared at him, his expression thoughtful and tense. “I need to go report to the Council,” Obi-Wan said, and left, unable to stand there and wonder what Anakin’s next question would be.

#

Anakin followed. Of course he did. He felt… more settled, after the night spent sleeping beside Obi-Wan, but his nerves still twanged under the strange tension. The Council appeared in all their tiny glory, two chairs still empty, and Anakin wondered if those Masters had died, if they were simply unable to join them, if their chairs were available….

He felt a familiar prickle of desire--he _should_ have one of them, was he not strong enough, had he not given enough, did he, of all the blasted Jedi in the Order, not _deserve_ one--and he glanced across at Obi-Wan when he spoke, his voice a raspy thing, marked with damage. “We have rescued the Duchess and are returning her to Mandalore.”

“Good news, this is,” Yoda said. “A connection to the threat to the Chancellor’s life, did you find?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Unfortunately, we were unable to question her kidnappers.”

“Escape, they did?”

Anakin failed to understand why they had to keep pushing. It was handled. Did they need to know every detail? Could they not see that speaking hurt Obi-Wan? He said, “No. They destroyed their ship to try to prevent the rescue. We found no survivors.”

The Council exchanged glances, but did not comment further. “Has a decision been reached about Count Dooku?” Obi-Wan asked, into the following silence.

“He will be tried,” Master Windu replied. “For his crimes during the war.”

“Why bother? We know he’s guilty,” Anakin said, unsure why they would want to go through the pointless song and dance of a trial. Then again, the Republic _did_ love a spectacle.

“There must be a trial,” Windu said, chiding. “No matter what we _believe_ we know.”

“I doubt he will give up the identity of his Master,” Obi-Wan added, stroking his beard, apparently running on ahead of the conversation.

Master Mundi shrugged. “Perhaps not. But the Sith _are_ self-serving. He might, if he saw a benefit in it.”

“Are you talking about offering him a deal?” Anakin snapped the words, anger tinging his thoughts. The Count had been instrumental to the deaths of millions. He had led the war effort for the Separatists for years. He had _taken Obi-Wan._ For that alone, he deserved to die. Anakin felt very sure about that. If they thought to offer him leniency for the name of some other Sith, it would be a terrible crime all on its own.

“It would not be ideal,” Master Windu said, his expression pinched. “But we must--”

“Must what? Offer freedom to a murdering Sith so he can offer us information about a different murdering Sith? What about his victims? What about them? Are they forgotten so things will be easier for _us_? We’re supposed to stop the Sith! Not make deals with them!”

Obi-Wan touched his wrist, soft, calm passing into his skin, quieting some of the anger and disgust at the sheer injustice of the suggestion. Anakin swallowed a breath and clenched his jaw, his teeth aching from the pressure he put them under.

“Understand your worries, we do,” Master Yoda said, quietly. “But gathers, a great darkness does. Handled quickly, it must be, or fear for the fate of the galaxy, I do. Contact you again, when more information we have, we will.”

And with that, the conversation ended. Anakin scowled at the emptied room, frustration souring his stomach, as Obi-Wan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Anakin said, “They should let me talk with him. I bet I could get him to tell me who his Master is, without offering him a reward he doesn’t deserve.”

Obi-Wan snapped his head around to stare, concern pouring off of him, along with a wave of horror that was enough to startle Anakin. He grimaced, the burst of unexpected shame doing nothing to improve his mood. Obi-Wan started, “Anakin, we can’t--”

“I know.” He blew out a hard breath. “I know. I was just… frustrated.”

The worry radiating off of Obi-Wan faded, but not by much. Anakin hated it, worrying him.

But they were in worrying times.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday ended up working out better for me for updates than Tuesdays!

The discussion about Count Dooku left a sour taste in Obi-Wan’s mouth, but there was nothing he could do about the Council’s decisions. He was days of travel away from Coruscant. They would reach Mandalore within the day, where they could return Satine to safety, at least for the moment. He needed to discuss her plans, but sensed her presence--sleepy and content--in Padme’s quarters, and decided the talk could wait.

By the time he and Anakin had eaten and meditated with Ahsoka, their drowsy compatriots had emerged from the room.

Anakin’s expression flashed with glee when he finally spotted Padme, and he hurried over to her, no doubt to poke and prod for information. Obi-Wan left him to it, filling a cup with caf and offering it out to Satine. She looked better. Most of her color had returned, augmented by some purples and greens--bruises left by Vizsla on her face and arms. Obi-Wan’s fingers twitched with quickly released anger. Vizsla’s death had been better than the man deserved, a thought that he ought not have considered.

“My thanks,” Satine said, sipping at the drink. She wore a set of plain clothes, something the troopers had scrounged up the previous day. Her dress had been beyond salvage, and Padme’s clothes would not fit her taller frame. She managed to look quite regal, nonetheless. She looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing as she scented him. She said, “You are looking… well.”

“As are you.”

“Mm. I hear we will reach Mandalore soon. You will join me on the surface, of course. There will be a celebration and the people will expect my rescuers to attend.”

Obi-Wan winced. Mandalorian celebrations could be a battle in their own right. And he felt that they should return to Coruscant, sooner rather than later.

“What kind of celebration?” Ahsoka asked, appearing at Obi-Wan’s side. The bandage had finally come off of her severed lek. The injured skin had scarred a dark purple. It gave her a roguish look, and it stirred a feeling of failure in Obi-Wan’s chest. If he had just been _faster_ ….

“Oh, a true Mandalorian gala. There will be music, dancing, acrobats, food…”

Obi-Wan realized, then, as Ahsoka grinned, that there was no way they were going to get out of attending. Still, he supposed they could all of them use a bit of downtime, before they jumped back into the fire.

#

Yoda walked slowly through the halls below the Temple proper, his thoughts heavy, weighing him down. He could sense Dooku. Even in his rooms far above, he could sense the Sith. He tainted the air of the Temple, poisoning the peace that should have filled the complex. And, thus far, he had given them nothing.

A half-dozen Masters had questioned the Sith, and he had not spoken a single word. He just stared forward, his legs folded, his expression set with anger, according to reports.

Yoda had visited him every evening and found the reports to be accurate. They had treated his amputated hand, though they had not fitted him with a prosthetic. They provided him with food he begrudgingly ate. And they kept him heavily guarded, not just to prevent escape.

No one seemed to know _how_ he’d come to be beaten, the second night of his incarceration, but one of the Jedi had found him meditating, bloody and bruised, the following morning. The wounds had born a striking resemblance to those recorded in General Kenobi’s health records, after he was retrieved from Dooku’s care. Yoda had decided to restrict the 212th’s ability to access the prisoner on a hunch, and the injuries had not reoccurred, though he could not seem to convince any of the troopers to tell him who had delivered the unsanctioned beating.

Perhaps he should have simply been grateful that the troopers had not killed the prisoner. They certainly _wanted_ to. He could feel little else in their thoughts.

Yoda set the thoughts aside as he approached Dooku’s cell. He found his old apprentice in the position that had become so familiar. “Speak, you should,” Yoda said, though he held out little hope that it would have any effect. “Listen, I would.”

Dooku stared forward. Yoda could sense a great turmoil within him, something dark and… almost foreign moved through his mind. But when Yoda tried to trace it, he was rebuffed every time. He did not know what to make of it. And if Dooku would not speak with him…

Yoda sighed. “Help you, we could,” he said, unsurprised that he went ignored.

He settled his old bones with care and sighed. He would devote more time to the effort, though he sensed already he would achieve no better result.

#

Ventress heard everything, eventually. Sometimes rumors took a while to filter down through her carefully constructed web of contacts, but word always came to her ears, if she were only patient. It did not even take very long for her to learn about Dooku’s capture.

She sat very still in her ship, after she read the report, sorting through her emotions. She felt surprise that Skywalker had walked away without killing the old bastard, especially after what Dooku had done to Kenobi. And she felt the recurrent hatred-- _fear_ , a voice whispered--that she always felt in relation to her old Master. And there was pleasure. She knew where he was, now.

And the Jedi Temple was not so well guarded as the Separatist bases and fleets where Dooku normally lingered.

She grinned, in the emptiness of her ship, and plotted a course to Coruscant.

Perhaps it was time she finished what Skywalker had started.

#

They arrived on Mandalore to significant amounts of fanfare. A little ship had delivered clothing to them before they reached orbit, and Satine disappeared into her quarters, emerging in a headdress and a shimmering cloak just as they landed. Anakin eyed the crowds gathered around their ship suspiciously, but no one seemed inclined to take a potshot at Satine as she strode forward.

She had refused to allow the troopers to flank her, arguing that it would look too much like an acceptance of the Republic’s military forces, but conceded to what security the Jedi could provide, along with the palace guard who fell into ranks around her.

She gave a speech, out beneath the open sky, that Anakin barely listened to. It was the same thing politicians always said. Our enemies have been vanquished and now we move forward into a new dawn and your continued support is appreciated, and on and on. Anakin’s skin still hurt from his exposure to space. His tolerance for speeches had reached a new low, especially because he doubted it would take more than a few months for another leader to rise up in Vizsla’s place, putting Satine and Mandalore right back in the same position.

As long as the Clone Wars continued, Mandalore’s untapped soldiers would remain in demand. People would keep pushing for them. It was one more reason to hope for an end to the wars, no matter how much the unfamiliarity of the prospect unnerved Anakin.

They entered the palace, eventually, passing into cool halls full of more people, similar to the crowds outside, but more finely dressed. Padme stole Ahsoka from under their noses, disappearing off with 3PO. Anakin watched them go, frowning when he said, “So, we’re going to a party. Is that right?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, walking through the halls. He seemed to know where he was going, so Anakin followed him. “It seems so.”

“I’m not dressing up,” Anakin warned.

Obi-Wan flashed him a sideways smile. “Uniforms are generally well-received at these events.”

Anakin still felt… uneasy. He stretched his senses out to check on Ahsoka and found her unharmed, perhaps bemused. “There’ll be a lot of people at this thing?”

“Oh, yes. Everyone who’s anyone will want to see the man who killed Vizsla.”

Anakin grimaced. “Then I’m going to want guards.” He cast a desultory glance at the palace defenders, and found himself unimpressed. Their armor was very fancy. He didn’t see any scrapes on it at all. He found that deeply discouraging. “ _Real_ guards.”

Obi-Wan considered that for a moment, quietly, and then nodded. “Yes. Probably a good idea. Satine won’t like it, but it’ll be a… diplomatic concession.”

#

In the end, Anakin got his guards, though Satine requested that they stay by the entrances and exits to the ballroom. A quick word from Ahsoka managed to get at least one of the troopers inside, as she somehow convinced Satine that she owed Rex a party. Rex had been swept off to find what Satine deemed ‘appropriate clothes,’ and Obi-Wan had not seen him since.

The celebration was well-attended. A tremendous crowd moved in the ballroom, sparkling with jewels and intricate outfits. Food and liquor circulated freely around the room, and traditional music filled the air, played slightly too loud for Obi-Wan’s tastes. He hummed and nodded his way through conversations, until the sound and the heat of the room became a pressing irritation, and then he made his way over to Satine, where she stood, stealing a moment of quiet on one of the room’s many balconies. The night air felt cool, compared to the heat of the ballroom. She glanced over her shoulder as he approached. The remnants of the bruising had disappeared from her face, hidden expertly by her make-up. Obi-Wan handed her a flute of liquor, and she accepted it with a smile. “You are enjoying yourself?” she asked.

“Oh, _immensely_ ,” he said, and she snorted, elbowing him in the side.

“And they call you a diplomat,” she said, sipping her drink and leaning against the railing, taking in the crowd slowly circulating around the ballroom.

“They don’t know me as well as you do.” For a time they stood beside one another, a faint breeze cooling Obi-Wan’s skin. He followed the line of her gaze, eventually, finding Anakin and Padme as the focus of her attention. The two were talking about something, low and earnest as a crowd of dancers navigated around them. Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “You and the Senator… you are well-matched.”

Satine sighed and slugged back the last of her liquor. Obi-Wan was quite sure that was not how you were supposed to drink it. She said, a hint of wistfulness in her tone, “You and I were, once. Or so I believed, anyway.”

He wished he had not brought the subject up, now, but it was too late to change it. He shrugged, thoughts of those long-ago days running through his mind. They had been little more than children, then. Things had seemed so simple and so complicated, all at the same time. “We were.”

A sad smile touched her lips. She tilted her face up and stared at the stars. “If things had been different…”

It was a conversation they had explored before. It never ended well. He shook his head. “But they were not.”

“No, I know.” She rolled the glass between her hands. “We cannot go back to the past. And you have found someone who suits you better.”

Obi-Wan stiffened, but he should have known she would realize. Satine had always seen more of the truth of him than he felt comfortable with. He grimaced. “I don’t know what you’re--”

She silenced him with a look, and he halted the lie before he embarrassed them both. She said, “I can see what you are to him.”

Obi-Wan lifted his chin, aiming for detachment when he asked, “And what is that, then?”

Her eyes narrowed. “The universe.”

The words hit him under the ribs; he fought to keep their effect off of his face. She had always known how to deal a blow with a well-placed statement. “That is…” He swallowed, discomfited. “I don’t think you--”

“Look,” she interrupted, nodding across the room, where Anakin had jerked his head up, his gaze finding them immediately. Anakin’s expression was set with concern, and he cut across the middle of the room, weaving between dancers, headed towards them. “I see how he responds to you. You may tell me I am mistaken, but I will not believe you. And now, you will tell him that I did nothing to you, before he ruins my _immensely_ enjoyable party.”

Anakin reached them, then, stepping between them, leaving them with no choice but to step back or bump into him. He placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s side, looking him over and then shooting Satine a dark look while he asked, “Everything alright?”

“Indeed. We were just discussing the universe,” Satine said, pointed. She smiled. “But I believe we have finished. If you’ll excuse me, Senator Amidala owes me a dance.” And she swept from the balcony, her skirts trailing behind her, the crowd parting before her. She’d always known how to make an exit.

Anakin watched her until she was gone, and then turned. “You’re alright?”

Obi-Wan wondered what Anakin had possibly sensed to cause such a level of concern. “Of course.” He made no move to rejoin the crowd. There were too many faces he did not know, and, in any case, he had never enjoyed moving among large groups of people. It was nicer out in the cool air of the balcony, with Anakin standing close.

“I don’t like the crowd,” Anakin said, as though reading his thoughts. “How much longer do we have to stay?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Traditionally, until sunrise.” Anakin glanced down at him, grimacing. “The Mandalorians take fighting and parties _very_ seriously. Relax, dawn is only a few hours away.”

Satine and Padme swept past, then, in a swirl of white and gold fabric. Padme’s laughter tinkled through the air, her eyes were crinkled with pleasure; Satine looked devastatingly pleased with herself. “I don’t know how they’re going to make that work,” Anakin said, watching them go with a thoughtful expression. “But they seem happy.”

“Mm.” Obi-Wan shifted a little closer. The air was getting colder, and Anakin put off heat like a furnace. Satine deserved some happiness in her life, and the Force knew Padme did, as well. He watched them circle the room until another pair caught his attention. He nudged Anakin’s side. A much older man was attempting to coerce Ahsoka into joining him on the dance floor, apparently ignoring the refusal written all over her expression.

Anakin bristled immediately, though he had to know Ahsoka could handle the issue without a problem. “Come on,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. “Let’s go give her a hand before she breaks his arm and starts another war.”

In the end, their aid was not required. The man reached up, as though intending to touch one of Ahsoka’s montrals, and Rex stepped in from the side, grabbing the man’s wrist. The man’s fingers spasmed and he tried to jerk away, only to find himself held tightly in place. Obi-Wan could not tell what Rex said to him, but all the blood drained from his face. The troopers were imposing, even out of their armor and clad in the cutting-edge of Mandalorian fashion, Satine’s present in action. Rex released the man after a moment, and the nobleman back-pedaled, looking faintly green. Rex had balanced a plate of canapes throughout the entire event.

They were close enough to hear Ahsoka complain, “I had that,” as she shoved Rex in the arm.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. He nodded to Obi-Wan and Anakin as they approached, plucking some violently pink wrap off of the plate and eating it.

“Enjoying yourselves?” Anakin asked, shepherding Obi-Wan over beside Ahsoka, bracketing them between his form and Rex. Obi-Wan wondered if he realized he was doing it. Alphas could be so strange.

Ahsoka frowned up at them. “Well, the food and the music are great. But I can’t seem to find a dance partner, for some reason.” She directed a scowl at the side of Rex’s head. He contrived to look completely absorbed with the act of chewing.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the lot of them. “Well, we can’t have that,” he said, and offered her his hand. “Come on.”

Both Anakin _and_ Rex made noises of protest, but by that time Ahsoka had all but yanked Obi-Wan out into the mass of dancers, seizing her opportunity while it lasted. He laughed, allowing her to place his hands and their feet. Her expression was set with determination. “You’ve done this before, right?” she asked, as the music swirled around them. “When you were… whatever. With the Duchess.”

“I have,” he confirmed, and led her into the first steps of the dance. She’d grown so tall, of late. Already her montrals rose above his head. Her face had thinned and she’d lost much of the lanky coltish-ness of her limbs. She would be grown, soon. And knighted, he knew, soon after that. She deserved it. Her bravery and cleverness had saved them all, more times than should have been asked of any Padawan. The war had asked too much of them all, and he knew he had not done enough to protect her.

He could at least teach her to dance.

                                                                                                                                                #

Anakin watched Obi-Wan lead Ahsoka through the complicated steps of the dance. Ahsoka wore an expression of determination, moving through the dance like a kata. She carried herself well, and she stood out strikingly against the crowd of Mandalorians. They watched her, and Anakin didn’t like it, no more than he liked the looks Obi-Wan drew. _He_ moved fluidly, as though he could dance straight through until the morning. Anakin scowled, prowling along the edge of the dance floor, keeping pace with them. Rex followed, his hand drifting constantly back towards the blaster that he did not currently wear.

“I don’t like this,” Rex said, when another dancing pair jostled against Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. He looked ill at ease in a silk shirt, and no one else in the room wore their hair as short as he did. They all stood out, in their own ways, warriors and outsiders, passing through a land with unfamiliar rules and rituals. “I don’t like any of this. We should have more guards.”

“We’ve got guards on all the entrances and exits,” Anakin said. He’d been reminding himself of the same thing, regularly. “That’s the best we were going to get.” Obi-Wan spun Ahsoka, then, startling a laugh out of her.

One of the finely dressed nobles standing near the walls stepped forward, then, as though drawn by the laughter. He was a tall boy, with fair hair and dark eyes. He made a bee-line right for Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, and Rex said, “Sir.”

“Yeah, I see him.” Anakin did not, as a general rule, dance. But he felt ready to crawl out of his skin, just watching. Caught between two options he did not particularly care for, he’d go with the choice that kept him closer to Obi-Wan. “Alright. We’re going in.” He took a bracing breath and strode through the crowd, focused on his targets.

They reached the pair at the same time as the nobleman, just as the current song ended. The nobleman sketched a bow and offered out a hand, opening his mouth. And Rex tapped Ahsoka’s shoulder, and said, “You’ve got to teach me how to do that.”

Ahsoka turned to him, looking puzzled, and said, “What? Oh. Of course.”

Anakin offered no such explanation. He took Obi-Wan’s hand, tugged him closer, and flashed him a smile as the music picked up once more. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, a hint of amusement on his expression, as Anakin did his best to imitate the steps he’d been watching.

“Rex wanted to learn,” he lied. It wasn’t that hard, really, dancing. It reminded him of sparring. And it got easier when he relaxed and just paid attention to what Obi-Wan was going to do next. Obi-Wan led them through the steps, his hand warm and steady in Anakin’s, his other hand pressed against Anakin’s side.

“I’m sure,” he said, arching one brow. Anakin feigned innocence and found himself enjoying the dance. Rex and Ahsoka seemed to be doing alright. At least, no one had been knocked down yet. Anakin kept an eye on them, and the distraction kept him from being prepared when Obi-Wan smirked and twirled him.

“You’re a menace,” Anakin told him, to cover the rush of pleasure through his veins.

“Go dance with Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan ordered. “I hear Rex wants to learn, and someone needs to teach him.”

And he seemed so pleased then, calm and relaxed, _happy_ , that Anakin didn’t even think to argue. He offered Ahsoka his hand and said, “Ready to make everyone look bad, Snips?”

In the end, it was Obi-Wan and Satine, finally sharing a dance as the sun began staining the sky purple, who put the rest of them to shame. Dark jealousy crept along Anakin’s nerves as he watched them spinning together and then apart, clenching together closely when the music reached a crescendo. But Obi-Wan stepped away from her, afterwards, kissing her hand and looking over to find Anakin and he--

He breathed out the sour emotion.

Obi-Wan looked too happy to hold onto it.

“You didn’t dip _me_ like that,” was all he said, when Obi-Wan made his way back over to them, covered in a sheen of sweat from all the dancing, his hair mussed, and his mouth wet from the water he swallowed.

Obi-Wan blinked at him, and perhaps they’d all reached that time of the morning when a person felt half-drunk, when any mad suggestion made sense, because Obi-Wan shrugged. And he reached out, drawing Anakin close, twirling him and dipping him low. Obi-Wan pulled him back easily, flashing him a grin. “Satisfied?”

Anakin stared at him, his joy some contagious thing. Or perhaps it was just that it had been so long since they’d had even a moment of peace, of quiet, of normalcy. He tucked back Obi-Wan’s hair. They stood close, still. Obi-Wan’s hand rested against his hip. The crowd seemed to have grown distant. Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened, and Anakin leaned down--

And Satine tapped her nail on the side of a glass, bringing the party to order and dismissing them all, finally, to their beds.

 

#

Pleasant weariness weighed down Ahsoka’s limbs, as they made their way slowly through the halls of the palace, to the rooms they had been assigned. She buried a yawn in one hand, humming the tune to one of the dances under her breath. Anakin and Obi-Wan walked a step ahead of her, one of Anakin’s hands resting on Obi-Wan’s back, as though he felt the need to make things even _more_ obvious than they already were. Rex and the others walked a few steps back. One of them was tipsy enough to sing.

There was a buzz behind Ahsoka’s eyes, as well. She’d stolen sips of the alcohol flowing freely around the room, here and there, at first to quench her thirst and then because it seemed like a good idea.

It could have been the alcohol, or the exhaustion, that made her stumble a little as she reached her door. “Whoa, there,” Rex said, steadying her arm as she managed to open the door, kicking off her boots as she stepped inside. He waited in the doorway, and she sat down heavily on her mattress, yawning once more. “You alright, then?” he asked.

She waved a hand. He snorted. “Sweet dreams.”

“Hey, Rex,” she said, when he turned to go.

“Hm?”

“We’re kind of a team, right?” she asked, giving voice to the buzzing thoughts in her head. She’d been pressing them down for a while. Since Circindia. They hadn’t had time to breathe, since then, and now she felt like she was decompressing, all at once. The bubbly relief and joy she’d rode on through the night guttered out, suddenly. She felt cold, in their absence.

“Of course we are,” he said. He sounded far away. She could not quite bring herself to look at him. The floor made a more interesting target. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged, picking at the golden rings the Duchess had given her for her lekku. There were more for her right than her left. There always would be, now. “Just. I don’t know. If something… If anything, you know. Happened. To me. You’d. I don’t know. Never mind.”

“Hey.” Rex sounded worried, or maybe angry. It was hard for her to tell. The Force felt blurry. Confused. Or maybe that was just her. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re a warrior. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

She nodded. “Right, sure. But if something _did,_ you’d...”

“Ahsoka.” She looked up, blinking her heavy eyes. He gripped one side of the doorframe and his expression had gone hard and flat. “Anyone who wants to hurt you will have to go through me. And I’ve yet to meet the son of a bitch who could do that.”

It should not have comforted her. But it did. She nodded and felt herself smile. “Thanks, Rex.”

He said nothing for a long moment, just stared at the floor and clenched his jaw tight. She yawned again and flopped over, and he finally stirred. “Sleep well,” he said and he stepped back, closing the door.

She thought it was odd, before she fell asleep, that his presence in the Force did not seem to move very far away at all.

#

Satine had given them rooms with a connecting door, Obi-Wan discovered, when he stepped inside. He was not sure if that deserved a thank-you, or a scolding for being so presumptuous. It was not the time to figure it out.

The room was beautiful, full of plush fabrics in creams and golds, and a bed far larger than he had seen in any of his previous visits. Huge windows opened one side of the room to the sunrise, which spilled over them in pinks and oranges. Obi-Wan pressed a hand to the glass, looking out across the city below, not yet stirring for the day.

Anakin stepped up behind him, his reflection in the glass dark--he’d ever been fond of black and brown robes. He was so tall, and grown broad shouldered, these past few years. And he did not gaze out across the beautiful view. His reflection made clear that he stared at Obi-Wan’s throat. One of his hands rose, hovering beside Obi-Wan’s hip, not quite touching. “I wish it could always be like this,” Anakin said, quiet. “Peaceful. With no one trying to kill us.”

_It could be_ , Obi-Wan nearly said, clenching his jaw against the words. It could be, but it would require such a sacrifice, one that he was not prepared to ask Anakin to make. Too many people had asked Anakin to do what was best for _them_ , influencing the course of his life. Obi-Wan would not be one of them. Anakin deserved to make his own choices, without other voices whispering in his ear, especially one he might be overly inclined to listen to at the moment.

“I as well,” he said, instead of anything else.

“I want our child to know this kind of life.” Anakin sounded raw, tired. He had, perhaps, drank too much, if Obi-Wan were any judge. His hand drifted over the curve of Obi-Wan’s hip, to his stomach, where his palm settled, finally. Tendrils of the Force stretched out, wrapping around the pregnancy, as Anakin added another layer of protection. He did not even seem to do it consciously. It felt… pleasant. And strange.

The touch brought images to Obi-Wan’s mind, of a child with dark hair and dark eyes that reminded him of the pictures Anakin used to draw of his mother, before the Council firmly suggested that he no longer be allowed such uses of his time. Obi-Wan had refused to enforce the suggestion, had told Anakin he did not have to listen to it, but Anakin had taken it to heart, and the pictures had stopped. And he saw, also, a child with sandy hair and eyes as changeable as the sky during a storm. And he heard laughter and childish voices and he wondered if his child would resemble either of the imaginings.

Anakin’s voice shook him from the images, so clear and strong in the front of his mind. “I want our child to have peace and to never be hungry, or afraid. To never know war. I want...” Anakin’s expression twisted in the glass as his voice cracked.

Obi-Wan’s chest ached as Anakin’s emotions buffeted him, so sincerely and deeply felt that for a moment he thought they would drown him. He covered Anakin’s hand with his own, and whispered, “I know. I know, Anakin. Me, too.”

Anakin drew in a shuddering breath, and curled his other arm around Obi-Wan, pressing his face against the side of Obi-Wan’s head. And they stood there, reflected in the glass, as the sun rose fully, until it was almost blindingly bright.

#

Count Dooku did not dare sleep.

Not because he feared the return of those clones, the ones who had seen fit to visit during his second night of incarceration. They had been cold and methodical, brutal. One of them had stunk of Kenobi.

That had drawn Dooku up short, for a time. His master believed it was Skywalker’s pup in Kenobi’s belly, and, after having seen the two of them together, Dooku had no choice but to agree. But the clone vibrated with fury that felt deep and terrible. Personal. So perhaps Kenobi had spoken the truth when he implied that the alphas had each taken a turn, and he did not know, truly, who the child belonged to.

It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing happened.

“You don’t dare kill me,” Dooku had mocked, between blows.

The stinking clone had shrugged. “We’re not here to kill you,” he’d said, and one of Dooku’s ribs cracked under a well-aimed punch. And then the clone had grabbed his Dooku’s hair and jerked his head up, leaning close. “But if you even look wrong at General Kenobi again, you won’t walk away from it. We clear?”

Dooku had sneered at the impudent monstrosity--they weren’t even people, not really. He had taken the beating and then the medical care the Jedi insisted on lavishing upon him, and he did not say anything about the troopers who had paid him a visit. Their treatment had been a fair enough repayment, no less than he would have done in their position, and it was no business of the Jedi’s.

Besides, it was the… presence that truly worried him.

Something haunted his thoughts, stalking around his mind, looking for a way in. At first, he had thought it one of the Jedi, perhaps his old master. But its presence was dark, rotten. By the third night, he knew it must be his new master, pushing and scratching and biting at his thoughts. He could not tell what the man wanted--was it punishment, for Dooku’s failure? An attempt to drive him to madness? A twisted form of support? He doubted that, remembering too well that his master would have left him to die on the end of Skywalker’s lightsaber.

It had been Kenobi who spared his life, if only as a byproduct of saving Skywalker from continuing his tripping progress towards a full embrace of the dark side. Had he not intervened, Dooku would have been dead. And his master would have done nothing. And why should he?

Dooku saw their relationship clearly now. His master already had his eye on another apprentice, and there were always _two_. He would be superfluous soon, if he was not already. He lived, at the moment, in the Jedi’s care and protection, but his master would reach him, sooner or later. Of that he had no doubt. And then he would be disposed of.

The situation sent waves of fury and fear through Dooku. The few times he slept, he was plagued by terrible nightmares and when he woke, well. It was worse. For a time he did not feel as himself. It was like some other mind controlled his body. He heard whispered words, just on the edge of his hearing, and did not like the sense of what they said.

He grew to loathe and fear the presence, though it was not without its uses. Something about it, about the use of the Force by someone else, weakened the Force blocking shackles they’d forced on him. He could stretch his senses out, already, beyond his little cell. He could feel the minds of his guards. Soon he would be strong enough to touch them, influence him.

And that was a fortunate thing, for he could not remain in the custody of the Jedi.

He would surely perish, if he did. One way or another. But he needed more time to come up with a plan that had even a chance of succeeding. His thoughts returned to Kenobi, when he shifted and his ribs twinged. He scowled. The truly frustrating part was that he could not even sense the cursed Jedi in the Temple.

He forced his eyes open, ignoring the way they burned, as an idea for how to buy a few more days arrived, fully formed, in his mind. When his old master hobbled down that evening, to badger him with questions and false appeals of concern, he parted his dry lips and forced his heavy tongue to speak. “Kenobi,” he said. “I’ll only speak with Kenobi.”

#

Anakin did not know how long they stood there, in front of the window, but eventually someone knocked at their door. He released Obi-Wan reluctantly, a headache from how much he’d drank building at his temples. One of the troopers waited outside their door, looking unsurprised when he found them together. “Got a message coming through for you from the Council,” he said, and Anakin sighed.

He wondered what could possibly be going wrong now, and followed Obi-Wan down the hall, frowning when he found Rex asleep against the wall, his arms crossed and his chin dipping down against his chest. Anakin nudged him with a boot as he passed, and Rex jerked awake, on his feet in seconds. “You get lost?” Anakin asked

Rex blinked a few times and then nodded, flashing a small, tight smile. “Must have, sir. I think I drank too much.”

Anakin could not recall Rex drinking very much at all, but then, he’d been distracted. He frowned, opening his mouth to pursue the issue further, and Obi-Wan said, “Drink some water, you’ll feel better. Come on, Anakin.”

Anakin looked over his shoulder as he left and then shook his head. It didn’t matter, really. And at least Rex had passed out close to Ahsoka’s room. If some fragment of the Death Watch had gotten angry and decided to try for some revenge, he would have been around.

By the time they reached their ship, the Council waited before them, the holograms flickering just slightly over the immense distance. Anakin tuned out the greetings, too tired from the sleepless night to worry overmuch about the empty chairs, or what they might mean for him in the future. He was not even sure he cared about them, anymore.

“Your presence back on Coruscant, we request,” Master Yoda said, once all the pleasantries had been observed. “Concerns we have, about holding Count Dooku. Requesting to speak only to you, Master Kenobi, he is.”

“To me?” Obi-Wan asked, as the hair on the back of Anakin’s neck rose. “Why?”

“He won’t say,” Master Windu replied. “We will await your arrival.”

And the transmission ended. Anakin gave up trying to smother a yawn. “I guess we’d better round everyone up.”

It took little time to find most of the crew--the troopers hadn’t gone far. They found Padme last, enjoying a cup of caf in the Duchess’s quarters, wearing a robe that was too long for her by far. Anakin hid a smile that faded as he watched the realization that she would have to leave, at least for the time, break across her features.

They left her to say her goodbyes, Anakin’s gut twisting at the thought of making the same goodbyes to Obi-Wan. He would have to, sooner or later. The Order would not send them on every mission together. He would be expected to leave Obi-Wan in the questionable safety of the Temple; and they would see no problem sending Obi-Wan off to face whatever threat they’d decided needed handled on his own.

The thoughts left a chill in the back of his throat that had not yet faded by the time Padme approached the ship, her expression a carefully blank slate. They took their leave of Mandalore in quiet, all of them subdued, for one reason or another.

It promised to be a long trip back to Coruscant.

#

Ahsoka found Obi-Wan, on the first day of their return trip, stopping by his quarters so soon after Anakin stepped out to check on Padme that she had to have been watching them and waiting for the opportunity to approach. Obi-Wan could feel her unease before he opened the door, but he waited for her to knock. She smiled up at him nervously, when she finally did, before her gaze slid away. “I was wondering if we could meditate together?” she asked, by way of greeting.

He stepped back, motioning her into the room. “Of course, Ahsoka. Is everything alright?”

She shrugged, picking a place on the floor and sitting down with her expression set and serious. “Mm,” she said, and he joined her, wondering at the worried twist of her emotions. Still, some meditation would do him good. He had not untangled the burden of his own feelings, not since their rescue of Satine. He still saw Anakin’s limp, lifeless body when he closed his eyes, he still felt all the emotions associated with that moment.

They were heavy and terrible and they distracted him too easily.

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” Ahsoka said, after a while, apparently giving up the pretense of meditation.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and cocked his head to the side, looking at her. She sat with her legs folded still, but her hands were twisted in her lap. Her eyes were downcast. He sighed. He had not thought they would talk about it, ever. He had not thought that they would need to. “It’s alright.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It isn’t, really. I should have… when we first found you, I should have talked to you. We were the only two omegas on the ship. I should have, I mean, asked you if you wanted to talk about. You know. What happened.”

Obi-Wan hid a grimace. He wanted to stand, but if she needed to speak, to get whatever she felt off of her chest, he would sit and listen. “I didn’t,” he said, hoping the truth would make her feel better.

She snorted, a swell of fondness rising through her emotions. “I still should have asked. I was just.” She shrugged, still looking to the side, her unease crowding back into the space between them. “I was worried, I guess. About what it meant. I mean. They say the suppressants are fail-proof, but…”

Obi-Wan looked at her, unsure what he could say. _Nothing_ was fail-proof, not truly. Circindia wasn’t even the first time his suppressants had come up lacking. Not even close. “We won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, because he could think of nothing more helpful to say.

She looked down, picking at her boots. “How can you say that?” she asked, quiet. “After what Anakin did to you?”

The question hit like ice water. Obi-Wan steadied his expression, and asked, “What do you think he did to me?”

She scoffed, faintly. “You know. _Everyone_ knows. In the 212th, I mean. And probably the 501st. I’m not stupid. I felt how angry everyone was at him, afterwards. I just.” She shrugged, then. She did not feel afraid, exactly. Just tense and concerned.

His answer took careful consideration. “Anakin didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do.” She looked up at him, finally, her lack of belief evident in her expression. Obi-Wan swallowed, and forced himself to hold her gaze. “I chose him.” It was not quite the truth, but neither was it a lie. He _had_ chosen Anakin. He’d just tried not to.

She frowned, tension evident in her expression. “Did that help?”

Obi-Wan stared at her, realizing, for the first time, that this was not just an attempt to understand what had happened. She was looking for advice on how to handle a similar situation, and it frightened him that she felt she needed to. But he could not blame her, truly. He sighed. “Ahsoka. You’re still very young, it--”

“Would it have mattered?” She interrupted, her voice flat and hard. “How young I am? If I’d been on Circindia? Would anyone have cared?”

Obi-Wan shuddered, looking away, thanking the Force once more than she had been too injured to join them. He knew she spoke truly. It would not have mattered at all, not on the planet. It had not mattered at all, the first time his suppressants failed. He’d been younger than she was, on a mission to some backwater planet when everything had gone wrong. He did not even remember what had happened, anymore, just the tang of fear when his Master had looked down at him, nakedly appraising.

It had come to nothing, in the end. The angry army they’d come to deal with had attacked and provided a distraction, and Obi-Wan left the planet no longer needing a first kiss and carrying the memory of being groped through his robes, but otherwise untouched.

Still, the unease and fear he felt afterwards had soured something in their bond. Obi-Wan had not been able to forget the feeling of being trapped, pinned in, for months, no matter how much he meditated. And the too-hot rush of Qui-Gon’s breath against his cheek had returned to his nightmares for nearly a year. It still did, occasionally.

He shook his head, shunting aside the thoughts. “No,” he admitted, the word like a knife in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

She stood, then, and walked over to him, sitting beside him and pressing their shoulders together. “Me, too,” she said, and she took his hand. He wondered how much she had sensed from him. There was nothing else to say, really. No other promises he could make to her that would not be lies. He would do his best to shield her, but there was no guarantee he could offer that everything would not go wrong, anyway.

#

Anakin’s nightmares persisted, all through the trip back to Coruscant. He was denied even a single night of unbroken rest, though at least he had Obi-Wan there when he awoke. The repetition dueled the horror, somewhat. He grew used to the vision of Obi-Wan covered in blood, to the sound of his screams. He learned to dismiss them as untruths, though they still left him feeling ill. It helped to be able to hold physical proof that Obi-Wan was unharmed when he woke, terrified.

The trip itself was a quiet, grim affair. No one seemed happy to be returning to Coruscant. Padme was subdued and spent large portions of the journey in her quarters. When Anakin asked her why she had not just stayed with Satine she shook her head, sighed, and told him that she could not, not with the possibility of ending the war suddenly looming so close.

Anakin did not want to return, not for more questioning by the Council. Even Obi-Wan and Ahsoka seemed disinterested, though at least they were talking regularly once more. Anakin had not even realized there was a coolness there, until it disappeared and he realized he had not seen the two chatting since, well. Circindia.

The troopers picked up on the general mood of the ship and moved through the halls like ghosts.

They received regular updates from the Council, none of which said very much. Dooku still wasn’t talking. Master Koon thought he had cornered Grievous and was waiting for back-up before trying to bring the general in. Padme got more detailed information from her fellow Senators. Apparently, the Separatist leadership had contacted the Senate already, suddenly interested in suing for peace.

They would be, Anakin supposed. They had no more military leadership. The fighting had all but stopped, as both sides waited for the new status quo to appear from the aftermath of the Siege.

Anakin was thinking about the possibility of peace as they made their final approach to Coruscant, and he received a message directly from the Senate. He sighed, cast a look at Obi-Wan to make sure he needed nothing, and stepped out into the hall to speak with the Chancellor.

“Anakin!” Palpatine enthused, “I heard about your victory over the Death Watch.”

“I was a joint effort,” Anakin said, distracted. If he strained his hearing he could just make out the rise and fall of Obi-Wan’s voice.

“I’m sure,” the Chancellor agreed, smiling. “I’ve been told that you will be returning to Coruscant today. Perhaps you would stop by my office? I have a proposition that I need to discuss with you urgently.”

Anakin stifled a sigh. He knew the man had to be lonely. And he knew that he owed the Chancellor a significant amount. But of late it seemed the man needed something every time Anakin turned around. And he did not feel comfortable leaving Obi-Wan alone at the Temple. Who knew what might be said to him? He shrugged. “We’ll visit when we can.”

“We?” Palpatine asked, as the ship reached Coruscant’s atmosphere with a faint tremble.

“Mm,” Anakin confirmed, looking back into the bridge. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re going to be landing soon.”

“Anything important?” Obi-Wan asked, when Anakin rejoined him.

Anakin shrugged, tired by the trip and the nightmares and the prospect of spending time at the Temple--and immensely uneasy about whatever Dooku wanted from Obi-Wan. “I don’t think so,” he said.

#

The Jedi had tucked Dooku away in the bowels of their Temple, so deep that Ventress could barely sense him, even after days of working to focus on his exact location. She scowled from her perch on one of the tremendous Coruscanti skyscrapers, setting aside her binoculars for a moment. Five days she’d watched the Temple, watching the Jedi and troopers scramble like ants, with only faint whispers to reassure her that they actually held Dooku.

She would obviously have to do something different, if she wanted a chance to get her hands on him.

Infiltrating the Temple would not be impossible, though security seemed higher these days than she remembered it. Troopers outnumbered the Jedi three to one, easily. And they were everywhere, clever watch-dogs armed to the teeth. The Jedi must have been more shaken by the attack on the Temple than her little whispers had reported.

Still, she could sneak in, look for information and weaknesses. And then she could kill Dooku.

She wondered if, afterwards, they would fight too hard to catch her. Surely she’d be doing them a favor. They had to want him dead. It was just against their nature to swing the saber and end it for everyone.

Ventress sighed, lifting her binoculars again when a ship moved towards the Temple to dock. Something about it pricked at her senses, and she narrowed her eyes, leaning forward when the ramp touched down. A pair of troopers marched down, followed by a familiar Jedi, tall in his dark robes, and Kenobi.

He glowed, still, through the Force. Still carrying that child of his, then, against all good sense. They were followed by their Padawan and yet more troopers. Ventress leaned back against her perch, a smile curling up the corners of her mouth. Kenobi _owed_ her. And he’d always been reasonable, for a Jedi. Perhaps she wouldn’t need to sneak through the Temple, after all.

She stood and pulled her cloak up over her head.

#

The air of Coruscant hummed, busy with sound and ships in a way Mandalore was not, and, with any luck, would never be. Repairs on the Temple had progressed quickly, though the steps had not been fixed, yet. They walked around the shattered stone, Anakin keeping pace with Obi-Wan and saying, for at least the fourth time, “I don’t like that he wants to talk to you.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan told him, glancing up to where Master Yoda waited for them at the top of the stairs. “That’s why you’re accompanying me, isn’t it?”

Anakin’s frown deepened, but he nodded. “I just…” he quieted, then. “He almost took you from me.”

Obi-Wan touched his arm. They had no more time to speak. Not unless they wanted Yoda to overhear. “Master,” Obi-Wan greeted, inclining his head as they reached the top step. Two of the troopers who had accompanied them broke off, moving to another group to no doubt discuss how to manage them all. “Has the situation with the prisoner changed?”

Yoda tapped his stick on the ground and shook his head. “No change, there has been. For you, asks he still does.” The old master shrugged, motioning them to follow. “About what he wants to speak, say he will not. Impatient to question him, is the Senate.”

Anakin shifted. “Maybe we should let them. He’s not a Jedi anymore.” Obi-Wan could not help but agree with the sentiment, despite a sense of unease that snuck into his thoughts at the idea. They had no authority to hold and question a war criminal, not even a Sith.

“Mm. Perhaps. But, darkness down that path, I sense. Speak to Master Obi-Wan first, he will. Need refreshment before we proceed, do you?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, though he would not have turned down a bed. “It doesn’t sound like we can spare the time.”

Yoda nodded, his ears drooping as he led them through the pathways, down below the main building. It was cooler, down below, and dim. It smelled of cleaning supplies and power generators. Anakin’s frown grew deeper with each step and he reached out, resting his hand on Obi-Wan’s back as they walked.

They found the Count in a clean cell, guarded by a half-dozen troopers and two Jedi, most of the group currently waiting as a trooper and one of the Jedi played a game of dejarik. Dooku sat in the middle of his cell, his legs folded, staring straight ahead. There were the remnants of bruises on his face. One of his arms ended in a stump. His eyes swiveled towards them as they entered, snake-like, and he sneered. “Kenobi.” His gaze slid further, and he spat, “And, of course, Skywalker.”

“Hello, Count.” Obi-Wan strolled towards the front of his cell, keeping his distance and glancing at the progress of the game. “I heard you were asking for me.”

“Indeed,” Dooku said. “My present circumstances reminded me of our last interactions.” His sneer twisted into a smirk. He leaned forward, just a little. “Such pleasant memories. They keep an old man warm at night.”

Anakin snarled and took a step forward, halting when Obi-Wan held him back with one hand on the center of his chest. Anakin settled for growling, “Watch your mouth.”

“Or what, boy?” Dooku rolled his eyes, rising finally to his feet. They’d clothed him in a plain tunic and pants. “Will you berate me? Perhaps glare? Think unkind things about me?”

“I am here as you requested.” Obi-Wan cut in, before anything else could be said. “What is it that you wanted, Dooku?”

“What do you think I want?” he demanded, taking a furious step forward, stopping before he could bump into the force-field holding him in the cell. “Release me.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “I cannot do that.”

Dooku shrugged, then, stepping back. “Then you will never know the identity of my master.”

They stared at one another for a long moment. And Obi-Wan smiled. “You overestimate your importance,” he said, turning away and motioning with his head towards the door. “I will return to speak with you when you are feeling more reasonable.” He reached down and moved the trooper’s monnok, ending the game, before he walked out of the room, Anakin following after one last glare.

“He has no intention of telling us anything,” Obi-Wan said, once the door had shut and they had reached Master Yoda once more. “I don’t know why he wanted me here, but it wasn’t for a discussion.”

Yoda nodded. He looked both smaller and sadder than he had only moments before. “Sense it as well, I do.” He sighed and turned, leading them back through the halls. “Give him to the Senate, we will have to. Tomorrow. Tonight, rest you should.”

Obi-Wan watched the diminutive master hobble away, his heart aching for what Yoda had to feel. He could not imagine what it would be like, to have his Padawan turn to the dark side, to have him unrepentantly kill so many, to have him so close and to be unable to make him see the error of what he had done.

Anakin bristled, and it snatched Obi-Wan’s attention back. He turned in time to watch Cody and Boil spot them and hurry towards them. Anakin scowled at their approach, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, nodding a greeting at his troopers.

“Heard you were planetside, sir,” Cody said. “Congratulations on a successful mission.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Anakin crowded another step closer and refused to give an inch as they shared news. The _Negotiator_ had nearly completed repairs, a fact that soothed a worry in Obi-Wan’s chest, even as he hoped they would not need the great ship anymore. They spoke until the exhaustion finally caught up with Obi-Wan, and he could no longer properly hide a yawn.

At least Anakin and Cody could both agree that he needed to get some sleep.  
#

Anakin did not realize that there was going to be a problem with their sleeping arrangement until they walked down the hall to their quarters. No one on the ship had complained about them sharing a room--the troopers did not care, and Ahsoka seemed to have accepted it without question. But the same would not hold true in the Temple. They would have questions, ones that they would think deserved answers.

Ones that Anakin and Obi-Wan would have to face for the rest of their lives.

Anakin scowled, the thoughts churning in his head as Obi-Wan stopped in front of his door. The Temple had been attacked, not long ago. And Anakin’s nightmares were worse, for some reason, in this place. Maybe he was more connected to the Force in the Temple’s halls. He didn’t know. But he could not bring himself to step away, not when the door opened, not when Obi-Wan stepped slowly inside.

“Could I meditate with you?” Anakin asked, a ploy that would at least provide them with a reasonable excuse if they were questioned. “My thoughts are unsettled.” That was not even a lie.

Obi-Wan snorted softly and stepped to the side, motioning Anakin in. “Mine as well,” he said, tossing aside his cloak and rolling his neck to the side. He made a soft, pleased sound when Anakin slid a hand over his shoulder, kneading at the knots he found there.

“What do you think Dooku really wants?” Anakin asked, as Obi-Wan went pliant under his hands. He should have thought to do this before. It made Obi-Wan _melt_.

Obi-Wan shrugged and then groaned, bowing his head forward to give Anakin more access to his neck. “To escape. He probably wouldn’t mind killing a few of us on his way out. You don’t have to do this.”

Anakin smiled, though Obi-Wan could not see it, and continued with his task, wondering how difficult it would be to convince Obi-Wan to remove his tunics. “I want to,” he said. “You like it.”

“Mm,” Obi-Wan agreed, drowsy and leaning back against Anakin’s hands. Anakin ducked his head, interested, suddenly, by the stretch of skin behind Obi-Wan’s ear, and Obi-Wan jerked abruptly, his hands going to his head and squeezing.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin spun him, the contentment of the previous moment washing out on a tide of panic. “What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan was _not_ wearing the outfit he wore in Anakin’s nightmares. His mind presented that fact as though it should make him feel better.

Obi-Wan waved a hand. It could have meant anything. He was grimacing. “Ventress,” he managed to pant, after a moment.

Anakin grabbed his lightsaber without thought. “Where is she? How is she attacking you?”

“I don’t…” Obi-Wan shook his head, blinking his eyes rapidly and straightening from his pained stoop. “I don’t think she is. I think…” He cocked his head to the side, like he was listening. “I think she’s trying to say hello.”

#

Reaching for another person with the Force had never been a skill Ventress particularly excelled at, but she could manage it, with enough motivation. And Dooku’s closeness provided, if nothing else, _incredible_ motivation. She settled outside the Temple, once true night fell and all but the patrolling troopers and Jedi fell into dreams, and concentrated on the flickering images of Kenobi she held in her memories.

She had plenty to draw from, at least, as she stretched out towards his brilliant signature. He was easy to find, in the end. No one else in the Temple was lit up quite like he was, not even Skywalker, who typically shone like a sun.

Ventress frowned, concentrating on the glow of his presence in the Force. She nudged it, unsure how much pressure to apply, and felt a brush of confusion at her efforts. She pushed harder, felt pain and then a sense of curiosity. She tugged him, as best she knew how, towards her location, and could not decipher the feeling she received in return.

She settled down to wait, for at least a few moments. If he didn’t appear she’d just have to go sneak in his window.

She didn’t have to wait long. He appeared in only a few minutes, his cloak billowing in the wind as he stepped out of the massive doors, scanning the area as he strode down the steps. Skywalker followed him, frowning, lightsaber in hand but unlit. Ventress sighed, but she’d expected little less. She’d have hardly let _her_ omega wander off to meet someone like her. The troopers watching the doors said something she could not hear, and he waved them back.

“Ventress?” Kenobi asked, quietly, as he drew close to her position. “Here I am.”

“About time,” she said, staying in the shadow of the ship she lurked beside. There was no need to alarm the boys in white. They tended to be trigger happy, in her experience. “You’re looking well,” she added, mostly to watch Skywalker scowl at her. “Got a glow about you.”

“Mm.” Kenobi smiled, just a little. “The hair suits you.” She wasn’t sure she agreed. It had itched, growing in. And now the pale blond locks fell awkwardly, no matter what she did with them. But it had felt like it was time for a change. And it kept her head warmer. “But I assume you didn’t stop by to exchange compliments?”

“Can’t get anything past you,” she said. “You have someone in that Temple of yours. Someone I’ve got business with.”

Kenobi cocked his head to the side, watching her. Skywalker’s eyes narrowed in consideration, some of the intensity draining from his glare. He asked, “You want Dooku? What do you want with him?”

She scoffed. “I want him dead. I thought that would be obvious, even to you. He killed my family.”

“He killed lots of people’s families,” Kenobi said, but he did not sound scolding, so much as tired.

“And if the rest of them were here to demand justice they could be part of this conversation, but they aren’t,” she said. “And I am. Come on. He deserves it and you know it.”

Kenobi winced. “Ventress….”

“You owe me,” she said, calling in the favor. “He’d have killed you, slow, if I hadn’t come for you. And you would have been glad, when he finally did.”

Kenobi shuddered, and Skywalker looked seconds away from going down to murder Dooku himself. It was a good start. A better start than she’d dared to hope for, really. She had to proceed with them carefully, now that she had their attention. No one said this was going to be easy, and alienating them would only cost her, in the long run.

She could be patient.

She’d waited for this for a long time, already.

“Just think about it,” she said. “I’ll be close by, when you’re ready to come around to my point of view. You don’t even have to say anything. Just get me to him, or, better yet, get him to _me_. And I’ll take care of the rest.”

She left them standing among the ships, the wind tugging their capes, and felt a sense of rightness in the Force. She smiled.

#

“Maybe we should just let her do it,” Anakin said, finally, once they were back in Obi-Wan’s quarters.

Obi-Wan dropped to his cot and chided, “Anakin.”

“I know,” Anakin grumbled back, drawn to the cot like a moth to flame. He’d gotten so used to curling up against Obi-Wan that it felt only natural to nudge him over and slide into place. Obi-Wan rolled to make room, and they settled. The beds at the Temple managed to have even less space than the ones on the ship. Anakin found he did not truly mind the closeness their narrowness necessitated. “I’m just saying, it might make things easier.”

“We have another Sith lord to find,” Obi-Wan said, yawning. “A Sith lord whose identity he knows.”

Anakin snorted. “He’ll never tell us anyway.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “True enough.”

They fell quiet, then, the room dark around them and the weight of the Temple pressing down over them. It was easy, in the Temple, to fall back to worrying about all of the Order’s concerns. Things that Anakin had been able to consider on Mandalore, on the ship, seemed to slip from importance. It was not an intentional design of the place, as far as he could tell. It was just habit and sense memory and the constant reminder that they were surrounded by other Jedi who may not take kindly to the thoughts he’d entertained.

But he was already indulging in behavior they would not appreciate. He pushed a little closer to Obi-Wan, curling his hand across Obi-Wan’s stomach, indulging further.

If the Council knew he was lying in bed, spending his time hoping that nothing would happen _specifically_ to his mate, his child, they would all frown gravely. If they knew how far he was willing to go to ensure that his family was safe, things would likely go considerably worse for him.

“Rest, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured, his voice drowsy. “No doubt we’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

Anakin hummed agreement, but sleep was hesitant to visit him--and it came with nightmares, worse than any that he’d yet suffered.

#

Dooku had ran out of time. The realization echoed back and forth through his increasingly fractured thoughts. Kenobi had arrived. They had spoken. There would be no more days to plan, no more hours to fight the strange whispers that gnawed at his mind. The Jedi would not continue to hold him. He could feel the decision in his old master’s thoughts. He would be given to the Senate.

To his _new_ master.

He swallowed down the bitter bile that burned at the back of his throat, his plans skittering through his mind one more time, honed as well as could be managed in this cramped cell, as he slowly lost his mind.

For a moment, he considered alternative paths.

He _could_ just tell the Jedi what they wanted to know. They would be merciful, if he did. He could feel how badly his old master wanted to pull him back into the Light, happy to write off the entire time Dooku spent embracing the dark side as a single protracted mistake that could be forgiven and forgotten…

But Dooku would not be remembered as the Sith Lord who crawled on his knees and groveled to the Jedi for protection. He had some degree of pride. Yoda would have to remain disappointed with him.

He _could_ return without a fight to his new master. The man pulled on his thoughts constantly, trying to draw Dooku down that path. Perhaps if he explained his failures he would be forgiven. But that thought was not his own. It had come in on itching legs and burrowed into his mind, stained by the will of another.

He would not be forgiven, not this time. They were too close to the end of his master’s plans, and Dooku could see them so clearly now. Perhaps the connection established by his master’s invasion of his mind provided him with a glimpse into the man’s twisted thoughts, because everything his master intended seemed so obvious now to Dooku.

His master would kill him. His master would kill Kenobi. His master would turn Skywalker.

His master would burn the galaxy.

Dooku shuddered, gritted his teeth against the shivery little whimper that wanted to pass his lips. No. No, he would not return to his master, either.

He would follow his own path, the one he had planned for the length of his capture. He opened his eyes and began, reaching out to the minds of the guards.

#

Anakin’s nightmares--vicious, terrible things--woke them both, leaving Obi-Wan to murmur words of comfort while Anakin held his hands to wounds that did not exist. The nightmares must have been especially bad, because Anakin stumbled to the fresher after making sure Obi-Wan was not dead, and bent over it, and heaved up all he had eaten.

Obi-Wan held back his hair--grown longer, of late--and wondered if they should not, while they were at the Temple, speak to Yoda about the dreams. Convincing Anakin would be difficult. The dreams of his mother, ignored so long ago, had left him leery of talking about what he saw when he slept. Anakin spat, a tremble in his shoulders, and Obi-Wan turned to get him water, only to jerk backwards.

“Obi-Wan? What’s wrong?” He could hear the fear in Anakin’s voice, drawn up from whatever it was Anakin saw in his nightmares, too ready to rush to the surface. Anakin swayed to his feet, crowding close as Obi-Wan raised a hand to his head, trying to sort out the sensation flowing across his thoughts.

“Something is...off,” Obi-Wan said, wincing. “Something in the Temple.”

“Dooku,” Anakin said, flat and hard, as good a guess as any.

Obi-Wan nodded, another wave of _wrongness_ shoving at him. His shoulders bumped against the door and he pushed the pressure back. “I think you’re right. Come on.” He reached out to the other minds around the Temple, broadcasting a warning, as Anakin reached for his radio and barked out a message, warning everyone to be on their guard. Obi-Wan grabbed his lightsaber, not taking the time to grab a robe, or even shoes, before he raced out of the room.

The sour feeling between Obi-Wan’s eyes dragged him forward, through the Temple, with Anakin following on his heels.

They reached the main hall at a run, just in time to watch Dooku go striding across the floor, flanked by four troopers. He moved regally, in his borrowed clothes. He’d nearly reached the passage that would take him to freedom. He carried a pinkish lightsaber. The Force shuddered in revulsion, prickling against Obi-Wan’s thoughts. No one else had yet arrived to render them aid. He shook his head and raced forward, Anakin leaping over his head and sprinting full out for the Count.

“You want to protect me,” Dooku said, almost lazily, waving a hand as he continued on his path towards escape.

Obi-Wan yelled, “Watch out,” a second before the first trooper turned and opened fire on Anakin.

Shoots ricocheted around the tremendous space of the main hall as Anakin deflected them. The troopers attacked with everything they had, obeying the compulsion without question. Obi-Wan did not recognize the markings on their armor and felt a brief sting of anger. Why were these shinies left in charge of the prisoner? It should have been the responsibility of troopers familiar with the dangers of the Sith. _His_ men were in orbit. They would have never fallen for whatever ploy Dooku had employed. “Anakin, we’ve got to cut him off!”

Anakin responded with a nudge through the Force, acknowledgment and a request that Obi-Wan please be careful, leaping over the troopers’ heads to flank Dooku more effectively. Obi-Wan jumped forward, his bare feet quiet on the floor, landing softly between Dooku and the Temple’s exit. He blocked a smattering of blaster shots and called, “Your escape attempt has failed. Stop before you get yourself killed.”

Dooku’s eyes burned like embers. “You want to kill General Kenobi,” he said, sneering, and it was eerie, hearing the clones repeat the words, mindlessly.

Obi-Wan blocked the resulting wave of blaster fire, holding his ground even as the troopers flanked to his sides. He could not bring himself to deflect a bolt into them. This was not their fault. They did not deserve to die for Dooku’s sins, and he could not be certain that an errant shot would not kill them. He could feel others in the Temple waking and stirring, rushing to their aid.

They needed only hold out, and they would have more reinforcements than they could possibly need.

Anakin took the opportunity that presented itself when the clones moved to focus on Obi-Wan, stalking in to meet Dooku head on. Obi-Wan’s stomach tightened, but he could do nothing about that fight. He had his hands full. The troopers drove him back a step. Avoiding their shots was like trying to dance through a rainstorm without being touched by a single drop. He could not keep it up. Not while distracted by Dooku and Anakin’s battle. He sunk into the Force, dodged a shot, and reached for the troopers. He ordered, the Force wrapping around the words and sinking into their minds, “You want to stop.”

They froze in place, echoing, “I want to stop,” back at him. Obi-Wan’s felt queasy at the thought of what he had just done. The troopers did not deserve to have their minds tampered with, either. But it was better than killing them. Behind them, Anakin drove Dooku back, their sabers flashing in the darkened room. Dooku was weakened, forced to use his left hand. Anakin was overpowering him, and a wave of relief washed through Obi-Wan’s thoughts.

“You want to go wake everyone up,” Obi-Wan continued, wrapping the suggestion in his will and forcing it onto theirs. “You want to tell your brothers that General Kenobi says they are to stay back. And then you want to rest. Far from here.” Their minds were already weak. He could not risk them rejoining the battle. He did not wish to risk _any_ troopers around Dooku. The Count was obviously a desperate man. He’d use any weapon on hand.

The troopers repeated the words and turned, marching crisply off, as though they were in no particular hurry. Obi-Wan let out a ragged sigh--controlling so many sapient minds at once was a challenge--and refocused on the battle. He could deal with the resultant headache later.

Anakin fought in his bare feet, his tunic forgotten back in Obi-Wan’s room. He outmatched Dooku easily, though his strikes were just slightly slower than Obi-Wan was used to, a product of exhaustion, perhaps. Or the nightmares.

Obi-Wan flipped his saber back on and moved to join the fight. He could feel the other Jedi converging on their position, and he yelled, “No clones!” into his radio, just in case the troopers had not yet relayed his message. He finally moved close enough to attack Dooku’s exposed back.

And he _felt_ the surge of dark pleasure through the Force as he made the attack. It was the only warning he got.

Dooku flashed them a smile, and all the slowness, the weakness that he had displayed, disappeared, shrugged off like a cloak. The smell of ozone filled the air and, a second later, lightning sparked around his wrist. Obi-Wan cried out, sure the strike was intended for Anakin, caught off guard by the sudden ferocity of the Count’s attacks.

But Dooku turned, and threw the lightning at neither of them. Instead, he aimed towards the passage that lead to the outside of the Temple, where troopers hurried to form a line to prevent Dooku from escaping, though they hung back from the battle itself. They were armed but not prepared. Not for Force lightning. They would have no defense against it.

And Ahsoka was among them. Obi-Wan would have to wonder about that later, about what she was doing with the troopers, instead of in her quarters. There was no time, not in the midst of battle. He felt her presence, whatever the reason for it, and he would _not_ allow Dooku to torture her again. He refused. He spun sideways in time to catch the blast of power with his blade. His saber jerked in his arms, pulling at his shoulders. He’d never felt Dooku unleash so much raw energy.

Dooku smiled, his face hellishly lit by the lightning. “You cannot win!” Obi-Wan yelled at him, over the thunder of it.

And Dooku laughed, tossing his stolen lightsaber to the ground as Anakin charged in from the side. Dooku brought his hand up, another burst of lightning already between his fingers, and unleashed all of it, directly into Anakin’s chest.

Anakin went down to one knee, convulsing, and Obi-Wan felt himself yell, but could not hear the words. The Count maintained his initial attack of lightning, preventing Obi-Wan from charging forward. Dooku stepped towards Anakin’s jerking body. Obi-Wan could move, could stop him, but only if he were willing to unleash the lightning on all of the troopers behind him.

Dooku smiled at him, increasing the power he directed down on Anakin, and Obi-Wan reached out to the Force, asking for forgiveness as he yanked his saber free of the lightning, rolling to the side. Force willing, Ahsoka would be ready for it when it lanced towards her group. He could not afford to look to make sure.

He focused on Dooku, accepting the choice he’d made, and Dooku’s wild pleasure hit him, even as Dooku allowed the lightning to dissipate into nothing and spun, terribly fast for a man of his age. He feinted for Anakin, and Obi-Wan yelled, his mind curiously blank as he closed the distance between them.

Dooku stopped, standing directly over Anakin, his hand held, open, above Anakin’s head, lightning crackling between his fingers. “Ah,” he said, breathing hard, red light from his eyes painted across his cheeks. “Not another step closer, Kenobi.”

“Let him go,” Obi-Wan said, held in place by the threat.

Dooku tsked at him. “There are no demands in a negotiation. Only requests.”

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. Anakin was stirring on the ground, already, recovering more quickly than he had any right to. If Obi-Wan could just buy him a little more time… “Fine. What do you request?”

Dooku’s smile would have been charming on a different face. “Your cooperation,” he said. “In return for Skywalker’s life.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. Jedi near surrounded them, now, hanging back so they did not force Dooku’s hand, but obviously ready to jump into the fray as soon as they could. The Sith could not handle them all. “My cooperation? I don’t think that’s going to help you. The rest of them aren’t just going to stand there and let you go.”

“I think you’ll be surprised,” Dooku said. Anakin blinked, taking in his surroundings in a second and snarling. “Stay still,” Dooku snapped at him, before turning his attention once more to Obi-Wan. “Drop your saber. As a show of good faith.”

Anakin jerked. “Don’t--”

And the lightning danced across his form, bowing his back, tearing a cry from his throat.

Obi-Wan didn’t even have to think about, really. He ordered, “Stop!” And flicked off his saber, dropping it, spreading his arms to the side. It would not matter, he told himself. There were plenty of other Jedi crowded around them now, including Master Windu, who looked, frankly, murderous. If Obi-Wan could just get Dooku _away_ from Anakin, they could converge on him. He took a step back, trying to look as agreeable as possible.

Dooku’s smile, below his crimson eyes, was beauteous and terrible at the same time. He released the lightning and called Anakin’s lightsaber to his hand, all in the same movement, before leaping forward, grabbing Obi-Wan in a burst of unnatural speed.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Dooku purred, the blade of Anakin’s saber held against Obi-Wan’s stomach, Dooku’s wrist pressed over his throat, covered in stinging sparks of lightning. “Are you ready for my next request?”

#

The world had gone mad with pain and panic.

Anakin lurched to his feet, ignoring the agony in his limbs, not even aware of it, really. He was not truly aware of very much of anything. His entire world had narrowed to Obi-Wan, held in Dooku’s twisted embrace. The Sith held a lightsaber-- _Anakin’s_ lightsaber--across Obi-Wan’s stomach, millimeters away from bisecting him. And lightning sparked across his wrist, pressed against Obi-Wan’s throat.

Obi-Wan met Anakin’s eyes, steady and calm in a way that Anakin could not possible achieve. Obi-Wan was dressed for bed-- _their_ bed. Minutes ago they had been curled together. And now a Sith Lord dragged him back a step, grinning at Anakin all the while.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Dooku gloated, sadistic pleasure dripping from his voice. He held Obi-Wan with uncareful hands, the blade of the lightsaber entirely too close for Anakin’s comfort. Anakin’s heart lurched, and he took a step forward, drawing up short when the lightning around Dooku’s wrist grew brighter.

He could hear the other Jedi at his back--all around him--waiting, primed to jump forward and attack. It couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let it. Dooku would kill Obi-Wan long before they reached him.

“You know I’ll kill you if you hurt him,” Anakin said, the words escaping as a snarl from between his teeth. Obi-Wan’s lightsaber lay abandoned on the ground, close to Anakin’s feet. He called it to his hand, thumbing on the familiar blade, soothed slightly by the weight of it.

Dooku smirked at him above Obi-Wan’s shoulder, his eyes glinting red. “I know you’ll try, boy,” he said.

Master Windu swore from behind Anakin, the hum of his lightsaber over-loud to Anakin’s frayed nerves. He said, “We can’t afford to let him go,” and he took a determined step forward.

The Count shifted his grip. Obi-Wan’s robes singed. There was a promise in the Sith’s eyes, one Anakin could not bear to see fulfilled. Anakin jerked out his arm, blocking Windu’s path with the blade of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and barking, “You will _stay back_! _All_ of you! No one will move!”

“Skywalker.” Windu’s voice held a warning, stern and terrible and ignored.

All Anakin could see was the lightsaber blade, terribly close to Obi-Wan’s skin, and the lightning, so close to Obi-Wan’s throat. Dooku continued to drag Obi-Wan backwards, down the passage, towards the open air and the freedom waiting at the other end. Obi-Wan stared at him, his eyes intent and so wide, a thousand words in the twist of his mouth and the way he held his hands.

The Jedi thing to do would be to charge forward. To stop Dooku. To trust the Force that somehow Obi-Wan would survive and to accept that, if he did not, that was an acceptable loss. That would be expected of Anakin as a Master, as a Council member.

He watched Dooku take another step back and realized he could not do it--would never be able to do it.

The realization shook him, and it was a bad time to be hit so hard. He did not have time to process it, not on top of everything else. Not with Windu and the other Jedi pushing at his back. Not with the troopers he could see out in the open space beyond the tunnel, a threat if Dooku reached for their minds. Not with the hints of electricity flickering across Dooku’s skin.

“Let him go,” Anakin said, his voice thick and too desperate, too telling. “Take me instead.”

Dooku laughed, not even slowing. He said, “Boy, I have never been the one who wanted _you_. And omegas provide much better company.”

And he stepped out, finally, into the midnight air, well on his way to the ships and escape. Anakin kept pace, plans considered and discarded all in an instant. Could he yank away Dooku’s saber-- _his saber_ \--in time? Even if he did, he could not stop the Force lightning. Could he signal to one of the troopers to take a headshot? He could see Rex out there--and Cody, damn him--with a rifle braced at his shoulder and ready. If Anakin did give that order, could he guarantee that Dooku would not sense it and kill Obi-Wan out of spite? Could he track Dooku if they allowed him to reach the ships? Could he trust that Dooku would not simply slaughter Obi-Wan the second he reached a vehicle?

Dooku took a step back from the mouth of the tunnel, his smirk stretching wider as his eyes glowed hellishly. Windu and the others radiated anger and frustration at Anakin’s back. Out in the open air, Ahsoka and the troopers held their fire. Acid burned the back of Anakin’s throat, and he could see no way forward. Not one that ended with Obi-Wan safe and in his arms. He ground out, “Obi-Wan.”

And Obi-Wan smiled at him. He saw too much in Obi-Wan’s eyes, affection and trust and, Force, forgiveness.

Anakin took another step forward, drawn helplessly, and Dooku snarled, tightening his grip, all of his focus shifting directly onto Anakin.

And it was then that a blur of grey leaped down from the Temple, landing behind Dooku. There was a hum of lightsabers, and Dooku’s expression went blank. His hands went limp. The lightning dissipated, harmlessly. A lightsaber pressed against his temple, another snugged against his throat. Their blades were bloody red, extending in opposite directions, cutting clear through Dooku’s skull and neck, just for a second, before they switched off.

Dooku collapsed. Obi-Wan snagged Anakin’s lightsaber out of the air as the man fell, stepping away from the dead man without any evidence of concern. He turned and looked at his savior--Ventress, it was _Ventress_ , where had she even _come_ from?--and nodded at her.

Ventress, her skull covered in a short fuzz of blond hair, tucked her lightsabers away, crossed her arms, and said, “Well, isn’t anyone going to thank me?”

And it broke the spell of stillness that had been cast over everyone. Anakin ran forward, needing to be sure Obi-Wan was truly unharmed, unconcerned utterly with who might see and who might care.

#

Dooku would kill him. Obi-Wan could sense the intention, it was impossible to ignore with the Count so close and projecting so loudly. The Sith’s shields were in shreds. He felt… insane, for all that he maintained a facade of calm regality. He dragged Obi-Wan inexorably back, and each step poured more anger and fear into Anakin’s expression.

The rest of the Jedi, held back by the saber Anakin gripped-- _Obi-Wan’s_ lightsaber--looked ready to scream in frustration. Obi-Wan, presently more collected than the lot of them, wished he could tell them all to relax. He sensed that there would be a solution, and remained compliant as Dooku pulled him back another step, into the light. Troopers ringed in the open space, Ahsoka standing among them, holding back and vibrating with the intention to rescue him.

Obi-Wan kept his gaze on Anakin, trying to will him towards calmness to no noticeable effect. Electricity danced across his skin. The Count dragged him along, and Obi-Wan felt a presence in the Force, and recognized it, a second before Ventress dropped from above, as good as her word. He felt the Count die, the spark of his life extinguished in the Force. He grabbed Anakin’s saber and fought not to stumble as all of the emotion that he’d held back so carefully flooded in at once.

His hands trembled, but only for a second.

Ventress stood on the threshold of the Temple, half of her tattoos hidden by her new hair, her grey clothing _almost_ resembling a tunic. She looked Obi-Wan over, almost dispassionately, and he nodded at her, acknowledgment and thanks in the gesture. Her mouth curled up into a smirk, then, and she tilted her chin up, throwing her words at the clustered Jedi to ask, “Well, isn’t anyone going to thank me?”

And everyone went mad.

Anakin was there in a second, ignoring Ventress utterly, hands sliding over Obi-Wan’s skin and thin sleeping tunic, the wildness in his eyes unchecked. He sagged, after a moment, curling a hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and leaning down, pressing their foreheads together. It was too much, too obvious, in front of so many Jedi, but it could have been worse. It could be explained away.

Obi-Wan was a pregnant omega; any alpha he was close to would respond strongly to threats to his safety.

As though determined to provide support for that theory, troopers swarmed forward, clustering around them, very obviously forming a defensive circle. Obi-Wan knew their armor. His men. He relaxed, slightly, smiling when Ahsoka rushed to his side, reaching out to him through the Force to make sure he was truly unharmed. Obi-Wan extended what reassurance he could as two troopers grabbed Dooku’s body and hauled it away. One of them shot the Sith twice in the head, apparently just to make completely sure he was dead. After everything Obi-Wan had seen on the battlefield, he was appreciative of the insurance.

The troopers glanced at Ventress, obviously uneasy around her, but they allowed her to remain in the defended area. She had, for the moment, at least, earned their gratitude. It was clear enough that Obi-Wan could sense it.

The crowd of Jedi made it, then, the groups coming together, all of them wound up and full of emotion. Master Windu’s lightsaber was still ignited and he stepped forward, pointing at Anakin as he barked, “You--what were you _kriffing_ thinking?”

Anakin jerked, tucking Obi-Wan back, his anger flaring at the perceived attack. The troopers tensed as well. Even Ventress raised an eyebrow, shifting her grip on her sabers. “I was thinking I’d prefer O—Master Kenobi alive to dead.”

“You almost allowed--”

“But he didn’t,” Obi-Wan interrupted, before the situation could devolve further. He nodded over towards Dooku’s extremely dead corpse. “As you can see, the Count will no longer be a problem.” Windu flashed him a scowl, his shoulders tight with anger, and Obi-Wan continued, in a quieter voice. “Perhaps we can all take a breath? The threat is passed. We are all friends here.”

It was only then that Windu seemed to realize he still held his saber ready to attack. He grimaced and flicked off the blade. Obi-Wan nudged Anakin in the back, and he followed suit.

“Pity,” Ventress said, watching the events unfolding with a dispassionate expression that did little to disguise her clamoring emotions. “I would have enjoyed the show.” She kept her tone disinterested, but Obi-Wan could sense the tension in her nerves. Standing among a bunch of Jedi and troopers could not have been her preferred way to spend time.

Master Yoda arrived, then, walking slowly down the hall and drawing their attention with each tap of his cane. He looked carefully over the scene and asked, finally, “Explain this, one of you will.”

Ventress leaned over and asked Obi-Wan, “Is he the one who’ll give me some credits?”

#

“At least we don’t have to turn him over to the Senate now,” Anakin said, hours later, when they were finally released from the emergency Council session called in the aftermath of Dooku’s near-escape and unplanned execution.

Obi-Wan snorted at his side. They’d been allowed to grab their boots and--in Anakin’s case--a tunic, before the meeting, but neither of them looked exactly put together. No one had. Obi-Wan said, “Thanks for saving that observation until we were out of the meeting.”

“You don’t think it would have been appreciated?” Anakin teased, the best he could manage in his current state of exhaustion.

Obi-Wan looked up at him, waiting for a small crowd of Jedi to move past them, on their way to the mess halls. “I’m not sure anything would have been appreciated.”

The atmosphere in the Council chambers had been tense. They were all exhausted, and shaken by the second attack within the Temple in so short a time. Yoda had been quiet, lost in thoughts about his fallen Padawan that were so obvious even Anakin picked up on them. Master Windu had been openly furious at the choices made in the battle. Ventress’s presence upset the few Jedi who were otherwise calm; no one had minded very much when she claimed boredom and left. And no one seemed to know who to blame for Dooku’s initial escape.

The meeting had been… unproductive, to say the least. Master Yoda had finally dismissed them, without resolving anything, really. The situation would keep until they’d all had a chance to calm down, Anakin figured. Dooku was dead. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

“The Senate will be angry about his death,” Obi-Wan said, as they reached his quarters. It felt like it had been days since Anakin’s nightmares drove them from bed. Obi-Wan moved to the fresher and bent, splashing water on his face and then bracing his hands on the side of the sink. He closed his eyes while water dripped off his lashes. “Someone will inevitably say we intended to execute him all along.” Exhaustion echoed in each word.

Anakin leaned beside him, brushing his hair back, reassuring himself, one more time, that Obi-Wan was alive. “We could try to get ahead of that rumor.” He sighed, too tired to look forward to the suggestion he was about to make. “Chancellor Palpatine contacted me before we arrived and requested we visit, anyway.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, a furrow between his brows. “Did he?”

Anakin shrugged. “Maybe we can get him to understand what happened.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan just stared at him, before nodding. “Alright. It’s worth a try, I suppose. Just let me get cleaned up, first.”

Anakin restrained an offer to assist, though the prospect of seeing all of Obi-Wan’s skin, making sure he was truly and completely unharmed, appealed more than any other course of action. He shook his head, pacing around Obi-Wan’s quarters and trying to pack away the memories from that morning. He could happily go the rest of his life without seeing Obi-Wan’s life threatened again. He swallowed, his mouth bitter, at the cold knowledge that it would happen again and again and again.

It was part and parcel of being a Jedi.

A knock on Obi-Wan’s door drew his mind out of the sickening thoughts.

Finding Cody waiting on the other side sparked all kinds of other dark considerations.

They stared at one another for a moment. Anakin wished, briefly, that he’d removed his tunic again. He narrowed his eyes, “Something you needed, Commander?”

Cody met his glare with a cool look. “Just checking on General Kenobi. Heard he was out of that meeting.” Anakin’s gut instinct was to dislike the sense he got that the troopers were monitoring Obi-Wan’s movements. That wasn’t _their_ responsibility. They weren’t even qualified. Anakin could still see the clones firing on Obi-Wan, and it soured his stomach, even moderated by the knowledge that those hadn’t been Cody’s men.

“He’s fine,” Anakin said, trying to convey that their conversation had ended. Cody raised an eyebrow and didn’t budge, as though he wasn’t prepared to take Anakin’s word on it. Anakin straightened his spine, stretching an arm across the door, and heard the fresher open behind him. He added, sharp, “Despite some troopers taking shots at him.”

Cody drew up, his eyes flashing. “Those weren’t _my_ men.” He sounded disgusted by the very thought that they ever could have been.

“Anakin? I heard-- Oh, Commander. Is everything alright?” Obi-Wan’s hair was still wet when he stepped over to them. His expression showed nothing but concern.

Cody nodded. “It is. You’re well?”

Obi-Wan nudged Anakin away from the door, casting him a sideways look and stepping out into the hall. “Well enough. Tired.”

Cody frowned, mirroring Anakin’s expression. “You should rest,” Cody said, before Anakin could say pretty much the same thing.

Obi-Wan shrugged, turning to walk down the hall, leaving them to follow him. “Later. It seems we’re going to visit the Senate.”

“Who’s visiting the Senate?” Cody asked, frowning.

Anakin said, “I’m not sure that’s your--”

“Myself and Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupted, casting Anakin a confused look.

Cody nodded and said, “Alright. I’ll get some men together.”

Obi-Wan stopped, blinking. “I… what?”

“You should have a guard,” Cody said, like it was obvious. “If you’re leaving the Temple.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment, before snorting a laugh. “I don’t think that’s necessary, do you, Anakin?”

And Anakin _almost_ agreed. He didn’t appreciate at all Cody’s interest in Obi-Wan’s well-being. A part of him wanted, very much, to let it be known that he’d be taking care of Obi-Wan, quite without anyone else’s help. But. But he could remember too well the glow of his lightsaber against Obi-Wan’s stomach. He could remember too well his nightmares.

Cody might be overstepping his bounds, but he was loyal. Anakin frowned at him and had no doubt he’d kill anyone who tried to lay an unwanted hand on Obi-Wan. And Obi-Wan’s safety was more important than Anakin’s pride.

Anakin shrugged. “Sounds good to me. Bring as many men as you think is appropriate, Commander.”

#

Obi-Wan stared at their procession and wondered how a quick trip to the Senate necessitated a half-dozen troopers, including the Commander of his battalion. Still, at least having the troopers around meant he would have someone to talk to, when the Chancellor inevitably found a reason to send him away. The man had never seemed to care for him very much, and the feeling was too mutual for Obi-Wan to be offended.

The Senate looked to be well on the way to fully completing repairs. A few droids moved around, here and there, but for the most part things seemed to have returned to normalcy. Only a single hole in the hall remained, open to the Senate chamber below. All of the blaster marks had been removed, along with any bloodstains.

Obi-Wan stepped over a spot where he knew a man had died, a shiver climbing his spine.

The Chancellor’s protocol droid opened the door for them immediately, and Obi-Wan took some pleasure in watching Palpatine’s expression when he realized that Anakin had brought friends. The man invited them all in graciously enough, and Obi-Wan stared at the spot where Ahsoka had been pinned to the floor, before his gaze was drawn to the wall where Anakin had nearly choked Dooku to death.

No sign of any of it remained.

It felt… wrong.

“I did not expect such a… retinue,” Palpatine said, drawing Obi-Wan’s thoughts out of the past. “Is there a cause for concern? Some kind of security threat I am unaware of?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Anakin said, as though they usually walked around with six troopers. Obi-Wan should have protested their presence more--if for no other reason than that they had no right to just drag the troopers around as their private security force--but their company had calmed some of the fear Anakin had been putting off since Dooku’s attack. “Well. Since this morning.”

The Chancellor looked up. “What happened this morning?”

Anakin looked over at Obi-Wan, who sighed and said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you that Count Dooku attempted to escape this morning. He killed two of his Jedi guards and… died in the process.” The Chancellor did not really need to know about Ventress’s role in the entire event. She’d left hurriedly, in any case, not even staying behind for the credits she claimed she wanted.

Obi-Wan hoped that the Count’s death would provide her with closure, but he had his doubts.

Death so rarely provided anyone with anything but a body.

“I see,” the Chancellor said, hiding his surprise well, if he experienced any. “That is… disappointing news.”

Anakin shrugged. “Master Kenobi did everything he could to take the Count back alive.”

“I’m sure.” Palpatine directed a smile in Obi-Wan’s general direction. “You have the Senate’s thanks once more for your efforts, Master Kenobi. However, I wonder if I could beg yet one more favor.” And there it was. Obi-Wan was surprised it had taken as long as it had for the Chancellor to get around to dismissing him. “Could I speak with Anakin for a moment? It is a… private matter.”

Anakin frowned, reaching out and placing a hand on Obi-Wan’s back, as though Obi-Wan would just run out of the room if he was not restrained. “I’d rather Master Kenobi stay.”

The Chancellor’s friendly smile did not so much as waver, but something shifted in his eyes. A chill ran down Obi-Wan’s spine. Palpatine said, “It will take but a moment, and I’m certain it would bore Master Kenobi, in any case.”

Anakin’s fingers curled into Obi-Wan’s tunic, gripping tightly. He said, “I don’t--”

“Please, Anakin,” the Chancellor cut in. “Indulge an old man.”

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, quietly. The last thing they needed was for Anakin to get into a fight with the Chancellor, especially about something so foolish. “Perhaps I’ll go check on Senator Amidala.” They had not spoken since they dropped her off at her apartments before returning to the Temple. Anakin scowled down at him for a moment, but finally nodded, breathing out sharply through his nose. He took his hand off of Obi-Wan and, surprisingly, reached out and caught Cody’s arm.

The two of them stared at one another, and then Cody nodded. Anakin released Cody’s arm and stepped back. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the pair of them, murmured a goodbye to the Chancellor that was mostly ignored, and stepped back out into the Senate proper.

#

Anakin watched Obi-Wan go, taking what comfort he could in the troopers that fell into an easy guard around him.  He made the appropriate noises as the Chancellor spoke, too distracted to pay much attention to the conversation before Palpatine said, “There are two open seats on the Council.” He offered Anakin a glass of something that smelled over-sweet. Anakin swirled it, nodding, wondering if Obi-Wan had safely reached Padme’s office, distracted when Palpatine continued, “And I have personally requested you be appointed to one.”

Anakin blinked, the words taking a moment to sort themselves into order. And then he asked, “What?”

Palpatine smiled, squeezing his shoulder. “The appointment is, of course, long overdue. I am sure you--”

“You did _what_?” Anakin stepped sideways, away from Palpatine’s touch. Conflicting impulses warred briefly inside his head. He _did_ want a place on the Council. Mostly. Of course he did. He was supposed to. And he did deserve one. But. But being _given_ one on the order of the Senate…?

Anakin scowled. He had never been _given_ anything. He’d earned his position in the Order, in the Grand Army, in life. The thought of it being handed over as part of some political relationship raised his hackles. He was sure the Chancellor had only had the best of intentions, but the idea of buying a position on the Council was disgusting. And if the Council had accepted the arrangement, well. What did that make them? Where were their principles?

Where were _his_ principles, if he accepted it, despite how badly he wanted it--needed it?

Palpatine blinked; he looked surprised. “I arranged to have your contributions to the Order and the Republic properly recognized.”

Anakin shook his head. “Withdraw the request.” Obi-Wan pushed at his thoughts, temporarily distracting him. Obi-Wan planned to leave--to go to Padme’s apartments. Anakin frowned, but could not think of a reason he shouldn’t.

Palpatine’s mouth actually fell open for a second, before he recovered himself. “Anakin, my boy, I think perhaps you are overwhelmed by recent events. You should rest. Think on what you are being offered, before you make such a rash decision.”

“I appreciate your offer,” Anakin said, stiffly, not sure that he did. Palpatine had felt the need to send Obi-Wan away for _this_? It was nothing they could not have all discussed together, coming to the same conclusion. He could sense that Obi-Wan was untroubled, but things could change so quickly. He needed to make his goodbyes, especially if Obi-Wan was planning to go somewhere. “But I am thinking clearly enough. It was good to speak with you again.” He bowed. “But, if you will excuse me…”

“Anakin, please,” the Chancellor touched his arm, smiling, friendly. “You only just arrived. I have missed our discussions.”

Anakin managed to sketch a smile of his own. His senses remained stretched out towards Obi-Wan, who seemed… fine. A bit puzzled, perhaps. He said, “Perhaps Obi-Wan and I can return later, to speak with you again.”

Palpatine’s smile tightened, just a little. “Ah, Master Kenobi. Yes. In fact, I wanted to speak with you about him. I have heard… certain rumors.”

Anakin stiffened. There was something strange in the Chancellor’s tone. He could not tell what it was, but it took so little to concern him, these days. “Have you?”

The Chancellor took a long drink, and nodded, his expression drenched in concern. “Yes. Is it true that he carries a child?”

Word really had gotten around. Anakin felt little surprise. It seemed to him that there was little else to do in the Senate but gossip. He saw no reasonable way to lie, when questioned directly. Besides, it would be a moot point, soon. Everyone would be able to confirm it with their own eyes, within a few months. “He does.”

Palpatine nodded, his expression kind and a bit pitying. “A shame. I hear his clones… took advantage.”

Anakin’s neck prickled. He sat down his glass, still mostly full, to ensure that he did not accidentally crush it. He knew not how to answer. Claiming the child as his was… not an option. Not yet. Not until things had been changed. But the thought of allowing the misconception to stand was infuriating. The idea of allowing someone to think that he’d let someone else touch _his_ \--

He smothered the thoughts. “Do you?” he asked, and wondered if Obi-Wan would be amused to see Anakin stealing a conversational strategy from him.

Palpatine stared at him, still full of concern. “Mm. Well. I suppose the… situation is always a risk. He cannot be blamed for it. The weakness is a function of his--”

“Weakness?” Anakin _heard_ the threat in his voice, so clear that it startled him. He squared with the Chancellor, not sure exactly what he thought he was doing, even as he did it.

The Chancellor’s smile looked sickly, for just a moment. “Forgive me, I misspoke--one should never repeat what they have heard without considering it. I only hope he remains safe. The galaxy is such a dangerous place right now.”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to him,” Anakin said, his simmering anger getting the better of his tongue.

“Of course. I’m sure you will do your _best_.” Palpatine poured himself another drink, speaking with his back to Anakin. “It is just that there are always threats we do not expect.”

Obi-Wan still _felt_ fine. Safe. But the talk of threats to his well-being make Anakin feel itchy. They shouldn’t be so far apart. Bad things happened to Obi-Wan, when Anakin wasn’t there to stop them. He forced a stiff smile. “It was pleasant speaking with you again, but I--”

“You are busy, I can see.” The Chancellor turned back, and he seemed, in that instant, like a tired and lonely old man. Anakin felt a tinge of regret for running out on him so quickly. But he’d brought it on himself. If he hadn’t asked Obi-Wan to leave, Anakin could have lingered much longer. “Perhaps you would join me later the evening? At the opera?”

Anakin smothered a grimace. Padme had dragged him to the opera, a few times. He was sure it was very beautiful and culturally significant, it was just that it was also long and boring. Still. He did not want Palpatine to think he was cruel, or that he had forgotten all the man had done for him in the past. “Of course,” he said. “Obi-Wan and I should be able to attend.”

Palpatine smiled, his teeth flashing briefly. “Wonderful,” he said, and Anakin excused himself before he could get drawn back into some other conversation.

#

A creeping feeling of unease filled Obi-Wan’s throat as he left the Chancellor’s rooms, prompting him to hesitate, to turn and look over his shoulders. The Chancellor’s red-clad guards had already moved into place in front of the door, their expressionless masks staring straight ahead, putting off a sense of menace that Obi-Wan knew had to be unintentional. Anakin’s constant worry about everything must have been making him paranoid.

Still, he reached out to Anakin through the Force and sensed nothing amiss.

Shaking his head at his reaction, he turned away, giving Anakin some privacy. He walked over to the hole that led to the Senate chamber, looking down into the cavernous room. Droids and workers cluttered the space, fixing the underlying structure so that the giant boxes for each Senator could be replaced.

All the bodies had been cleared away, along with the rubble. If he had not been there to see the room sundered with explosions, he could have believed they were just updating the room. He sighed. Death was everywhere, these days. There was no where he could go and not remember a loss sustained there.

“General Kenobi?” He looked over, finding a crowd of Senators approaching, led by Senator Organa. The tall man grinned, his half-cloak thrown over his shoulder. “I’m glad to see you. I’ve been wanting to offer you my thanks in person.”

Obi-Wan shunted aside his thoughts on death, marshalling a smile to replace them, shaking his head slightly when the troopers stiffened, as though expecting a fight. They lessened their aggressive stance, though Cody stepped closer, looming like a threat. “Senator. No thanks are required,” he said, but Organa ignored that, reaching out to clasp his hand and moving to pull him into a friendly embrace before freezing, one hand gripping Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Organa’s eyes widened and then dipped, and, if Obi-Wan had needed further proof that the pregnancy had progressed far enough to allow alphas to scent it on him, well. He had it. Organa was poised enough to make the removal of his hands look natural and unhurried. He retreated back a step, his look towards Cody and the other troopers _almost_ unconcerned. “My apologies,” he said.

Obi-Wan inclined his head. Apologies were not _strictly_ needed, but too much had happened, of late, for him to be happy about being grabbed unexpectedly, so he would accept them. Besides, the troopers seemed to expect it. To move past the moment he greeted the other Senators, most of whom he recognized.

Organa took the time to compose himself. By the time Obi-Wan was finished getting reacquainted with Senator Chuchi, the man looked perfectly fine. Fine enough to say, “It was fortuitous we met you, General. We heard Senator Amidala was returned and were on our way to visit her apartments. Perhaps you would like to join us?”

A striking woman all in white, Senator Mon Mothma, reached out and touched Organa’s arm, concern written across her features. “I’m not certain Senator Amidala would appreciate so many guests.” Obi-Wan’s curiosity prickled at the obvious excuse.

Organa shot her a reassuring look. “I have known General Kenobi for a long time. I believe Senator Amidala would be happy if he joined us.”

Mon Mothma looked less sure, but she nodded after a moment. Organa raised one eyebrow in question. “Well, General? Will you accompany us?”

Perhaps he should not have. But he sensed something from their group, and felt a faint tug against his thoughts, urging him to go along. And he was curious. They could not have been any more obviously up to something if they were walking through the halls in the middle of the night, all dressed in black. “It is always a pleasure to aid the Senate,” he said, and joined their ranks, reaching out towards Anakin with a sense of where he was going.

Anakin responded with a hint of worry, but seemed distracted. Something tugged at Obi-Wan as they passed the door to the Chancellor’s chambers, a sense of malaise, of rot, and he pivoted towards it, automatically, only for Mon Mothma to clear her throat, drawing him back on track.

He managed a weak smile for her, looking over his shoulder at the door. The feeling had passed, in any case.

“Perhaps the troopers should remain with the ship?” Mon Mothma asked, when they finally arrived at Padme’s apartments. Her expression twitched when Cody’s hand fell automatically to his blaster, Boil responding only a half-second slower. Obi-Wan held out a hand, and they both settled.

“We’re all friends, here,” he said, but even Organa looked slightly ill-at-ease with the situation. A diplomatic concession was called for. He nodded his head to the side. “But perhaps most of them could guard the ship?” He added, after a second. “I trust Commander Cody completely and feel he should accompany me.” He had a feeling Cody would be insistent about it, in any case.

The Senators must have realized that was the best they were going to get. Certainly, Organa had a knowing look on his face. Besides, at that point C-3PO came hurrying towards them, shining brilliantly and calling exuberant greetings.

“You sure about this?” Cody asked, quietly, as the Senators moved up the ramp towards the droid. “They’re acting pretty shady.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. They _were_. That was what interested him so much. “I’m confident we could handle them if they tried anything,” he said, and Cody snorted.

“Fair enough.”

“Besides, if they are up to something, and it involves Senator Amidala, we had better find out what it is.”

They joined the group, finding Padme waiting for them at the entrance to her apartments, looking surprised and slightly worried. Some of her anxiety faded when she spotted Obi-Wan, and she nodded to him, welcoming them all inside.

They settled on the couches around her room, 3PO moving around, pleased as a droid ever got to serve everyone drinks. For a while, they all chattered about nothing of consequence, until Obi-Wan almost believed they were there on a social visit. The undercurrent of tension in the room prevented him from accepting that lie.

It was Organa who finally cleared his throat and set down his drink, his expression growing abruptly serious. “There have been developments,” he said, “while you were away.”

Padme drew in a breath. She did not appear overly surprised. Just worried. She finished her drink and said, “Tell me.”

And Obi-Wan listened.

And learned, his unease growing by the word.

#

Obi-Wan had gone to Padme’s apartments, something Anakin had not worried about, at first. But the subtle pressure of Obi-Wan’s anxiety had been steadily expanding, each time Anakin reached out towards him. He did not seem injured, or panicked, but… Anakin still flew more recklessly than he should have, once he finally extricated himself from Palpatine’s rooms.

He found an unfamiliar ship docked at Padme’s apartments. Five troopers waited outside of it, leaning against the hull, absently cleaning their blasters. They looked up when Anakin landed, and Boil gave him a curt nod in greeting. “General Kenobi is inside, sir, with a bunch of Senators. There’s been no problems I could see. Commander Cody’s with him.”

Anakin nodded back. “Why are you out here?”

Boil shrugged. “We were making the Senators nervous. Guess they figured trying to keep the Commander away from the General would be more trouble than it was worth.” He said it like he agreed, a hint of approval in his voice. Anakin shoved down the flare of irritation in his chest, angered by the implication that Cody had some right to be where Obi-Wan happened to be.

“I see,” he said, gruffly, and started up the walk with one final nod.

3PO met him at the door, opening it from him and ushering him in with a cloud of excited babble. The Senators were all standing around the couches, obviously saying their goodbyes. Obi-Wan stood beside one of the couches, flashing a smile when addressed, his expression defaulting back to concern once the interaction ended. Cody waited at his side, too close, scanning the room constantly. He acknowledged Anakin with a nod. Anakin scowled at him.

“General Skywalker,” Padme said, smiling as she walked up. “How good to see you. You remember Senator Chuchi?” she asked, and the next few minutes were so full of ridiculous pleasantries that Anakin had to smother the urge to yell. The pointless babble seemed unending. He had thought perhaps the Senators were leaving, but they seemed determined to discuss banalities endlessly. He was relieved when Obi-Wan finally appeared at his side, his expression tight with tension.

“My thanks for having us,” Obi-Wan said, touching Anakin’s arm and giving him the slightest push towards the door. He nodded towards Padme and Senator Organa. “I will think on what we discussed.”

“That is all we ask,” Organa said, and Anakin almost asked _what_ it was they’d talked about, but a mental nudge from Obi-Wan stayed his tongue. There was another round of politeness, as everyone bid them a very fond farewell, and then they escaped out onto the walkway.

“What was that about?” Anakin asked, slightly dazed from all the chatter.

Obi-Wan shook his head, leading them down the path towards Anakin’s ship. “We’ll discuss it shortly.” He cast a look around the sky, his expression still full of concern. “Somewhere quiet.”

Anakin eyed him. Quiet was hard to come by, on Coruscant.

Cody cleared his throat and offered, “You should come up to the _Negotiator._ It’s quieter than anything down here.”

Anakin’s instinctive reaction was irritation and refusal, but he’d gotten better, lately, at pushing those reactions down and thinking through them. He’d had to. Visiting the _Negotiator_ had its benefits. The Temple had been attacked too often recently for Anakin to be completely comfortable there. And he disliked the sense that he could not be there alone with Obi-Wan without _someone_ questioning it. He raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan in question, and Obi-Wan nodded. “The _Negotiator_ it is,” he said.

#

Obi-Wan barely remembered the flight. His thoughts were busy, still, with all that had been said in Padme’s apartments. He climbed from the ship, distracted, and patted Cody’s arm absently. “Get some rest, Commander. And… keep what you heard quiet. For now.”

Cody looked as though he was going to argue about being dismissed, but Obi-Wan would be damned if he had to have a bodyguard on his own ship. Cody must have sensed it, because he nodded after a moment, and said only, “I will. Comm if you decide to go anywhere.” He and the troopers walked off, leaving only Anakin, who stared, waiting.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan sighed, leading Anakin through the halls. He did not look forward to the conversation looming ahead. He had his doubts about how well Anakin would take it. Any of it. At the very least, Anakin would not want to believe. Force, Obi-Wan did not _want_ to believe.

“Alright,” Anakin said, when they finally reached Obi-Wan’s quarters and stepped inside. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Obi-Wan stared. The trip to the _Negotiator_ , the walk to his room, they had not given him enough time to digest what he had heard, much less provided him with the time to figure out how to shape it for someone else. He scrubbed at his face, shrugging off his cloak and tossing it across his bed, more for something to busy his hands with than anything else. He turned, looking for a datapad, and Anakin said, “Obi-Wan, come on. You’re worrying me.”

“I…” Obi-Wan started, and then shook his head. “The Senators have… concerns. They have found provisions in some proposed bills that would allow--”

“Oh, kriff,” Anakin interrupted, sagging. “This is just politics? I thought it was....” He stopped then, narrowing his eyes at Obi-Wan and stepping closer, concern flashing across his expression. “It’s not just politics?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, dragging a hand back through his hair and feeling the weariness in his bones. “It is the structure of the Republic, Anakin. That’s what politics are.”

Anakin looked unconvinced, but he nodded anyway. “Alright. Well. What’s in these bills that has you so worried, then?”

Obi-Wan’s stomach ached. He could see the shape of the coming conversation. They’d had some variant of it often enough before for him to know how it would go. He almost changed the subject; it would not be hard to get Anakin to stop caring about it. He had a natural distaste of the political process that would serve that well enough. And if he disagreed strongly enough, telling him could endanger all of the Senators who had taken Obi-Wan into their confidence.

He shook his head, clearing away the thought. He trusted Anakin. Even if he was angry, or disbelieving, or merely unconcerned, he would not do anything too rash.

“More power for the Chancellor,” he said, and watched Anakin’s expression go stiff, wooden, which was, perhaps, better than reflexive anger. “Over the army and the formation of laws. And over the length of his… term.”

Anakin absorbed the news in quiet, unblinking. And then he cocked his head to the side, his presence in the Force nudging against Obi-Wan, almost curious. He said, quietly, “You’re _very_ worried about this.”

Obi-Wan snorted, nodding. “I am, yes.”

“Why?” At least Anakin sounded honestly confused, instead of angry that someone would dare to doubt a single one of the Chancellor’s actions.

“No one should have as much power as this would give the Chancellor, Anakin. He could--he could single-handedly disband the army. He would be able to remove a world from the Republic based on his own wishes. He would be able to dismiss sitting Senators at will. And the provisions to remove him from power would be… minimal.” Obi-Wan shuddered.

Anakin scowled at the ground, a furrow between his brows. “But the Chancellor is a good man, he wouldn’t…”

And they had reached the point of the conversation where everything would fall apart, Obi-Wan knew. But he saw no way forward but to carry it out to the bitter end. “Even if he is, Anakin, even if he never makes a single poor decision, he is old. Can you speak with the same confidence about whoever will take his place?” Anakin jerked, sucking in a breath. “Or the person after that? These laws will be near-impossible to change once they are accepted.”

Usually, Anakin would have been leaping to the Chancellor’s defense by that point in the conversation. The servos in his mechanical hand whined. Obi-Wan reached out to him, carefully, and touched his shoulder, swallowing hard before he continued, “We might--we might have grandchildren one day.” He laughed, helplessly, when Anakin’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Do we want them to have to face some stranger, someone who has all the power to kill them?”

Obi-Wan could _feel_ the turmoil inside Anakin’s head. Anakin stared at him, like he was looking for all the answers in Obi-Wan’s eyes, and then he jerked forward, his arms going around Obi-Wan, gathering him close. He ground out, “No,” as though the admission had to fight to be spoken. “No, I don’t want that.”

Obi-Wan held him, heady relief bursting in his chest. Anakin breathed against the side of his head for a moment, and then said, his voice still some raw thing, “He said--the Chancellor, today, when I spoke with him--he told me he’d requested that I be given a place on the Council.”

Obi-Wan jerked back in surprise, needing to see Anakin’s face. “He _what_?”

Anakin grimaced, his hands falling to Obi-Wan’s waist and staying there. “I know. I _know_ , alright. I told him to withdraw the request.”

The conversation had become as disorienting as riding as Anakin’s passenger through Coruscant. Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say, or where to put his hands. He settled for dragging one back through his hair, and managed, “I don’t… Anakin. You _will_ be given a place on the Council. Everyone knows you deserve one. I--”

“I don’t even know if I want one,” Anakin blurted, into the space between them. Obi-Wan needed something steady to grab, and his hand found Anakin’s shoulder. He gripped hard, staring, knowing that his mouth had fallen open and momentarily unable to do anything about it.

“I don’t understand,” he managed, finally. He could hear the note of pleading in his tone. “For as long as I have known you, you have wanted--”

“I _want_ you,” Anakin growled, tugging Obi-Wan closer, ducking his head, as though he intended to seize a kiss. He stopped, a breath from Obi-Wan’s mouth, trembling with the effort of restraining himself. So close, his eyes blazed. And then he squeezed his eyes shut and tore his hands off of Obi-Wan, turning and tripping away.

Obi-Wan twisted, his chest tight, catching Anakin’s arm before he could go far. The air between them felt overfull, and the tidal pull of Anakin’s emotions tugged at him like gravity. He could not clear his mind. There was simply too much, filling him up. He rasped, “Anakin.”

Anakin made a sound, low and hurt. He moved, shifted closer, boxing Obi-Wan in, suddenly, against the wall. “I want you to be safe. Happy. I want to hear you laugh and I want to touch you.” His eyes darkened and his gaze dipped. “Force, but I want to touch you. I want it so badly it _hurts_ , sometimes, to resist, and I know you’re not sure. I’m trying not to push you. I know--” he gestured with his hand, grimacing, “--I know there’s the Code. I know the Jedi need us. I know Qui-Gon thought I was the Chosen One. But I don’t--I’m _attached_ , Obi-Wan. I love you. I can’t _not_ love you. So. So, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m supposed to _do_. Just. Just tell me what it is, and I’ll do it.”

Anakin was breathing hard, and there was a wildness in his eyes, a desperation that bordered on fear. Obi-Wan stared up at him, the confessions ringing in his ears. His chest ached. His voice was low and hoarse when he managed to speak. “I can’t tell you what to do.”

Anakin barked a laugh, dropping his head and banging one of his fists into the wall, his frustration and confusion and need swirling around them. Obi-Wan reached for him, helplessly, touching his face, shivering when Anakin nuzzled into his hand. His thoughts tangled. They could not go on this way, but all the ways forward seemed untenable.

He could turn aside and walk away--but it would have to be a final break, he could see that, now. He could not stay and expect things to return to how they used to be. His closeness hurt Anakin. Distracted him. If he were… gone, Anakin could focus on achieving a seat on the Council, or fulfilling whatever destiny was intended for him by the Force.

But he thought that Anakin would follow him, if he tried to leave. He would end up dragging Anakin away from the Order, from his dreams, even if that wasn’t what he’d aimed to do.

And he did not _want_ to go. He did not want to keep fighting this, this pull he felt.

But what else was left to them? Leaving the Order? The thought did not repel him, it had haunted him for half of his life, but there was Anakin to think of, too. Even if he thought he wanted to follow such a path at that moment, well. It was understandable. He was an alpha. Obi-Wan carried his child. He would not be thinking clearly, everyone knew that. But once the child was born, he could regret his choices and Obi-Wan was not sure he could bear that…

They could simply ignore the Code. Give in to their desires and hide what they were doing. He already had, to a certain extent, to protect Anakin. The possibility had to be considered. But the thought turned Obi-Wan’s stomach. He could not, not even for Anakin.  He would give up the Order, willingly, but he would not live a lie.

Anakin’s breath had evened out. He seemed to have grown calmer while Obi-Wan’s emotions reached tumultuous peaks. He pressed a kiss against Obi-Wan’s wrist and looked up, his eyes grave and dark. And he said, “Alright. Fine. Then tell me what _you_ want.”

#

Anakin watched the stillness spread across Obi-Wan’s expression, as surprise temporarily quieted the tempest hiding in his emotions. He acted as though no one had ever asked him the question before. Sithspit. Maybe no one ever _had_. Obi-Wan asked, carefully, as though unfamiliar with the concept, “What I want?”

“Yes.” It had been the right thing to ask, Anakin sensed. The Force fairly hummed with approval. He had been a fool not to ask before. “What do you want, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s gaze cut to the side. “I don’t think that’s relevant.”

The words hurt, all the worse because Anakin could feel the truthfulness of them. Still, after everything, Obi-Wan fully believed that what he wanted should not matter to Anakin. Anakin grimaced, curling his hand against Obi-Wan’s neck. “I swear to you, it is extremely relevant to me.” Obi-Wan swallowed heavily, his expression tightening, and Anakin added, “Please. Please tell me.”

For a moment, he thought Obi-Wan would avoid answering, would sidestep away and disappear, delaying the conversation, perhaps permanently. But Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, instead, and stiffened as though bracing for a blow. And he said, his voice hoarse, “I want our child to be safe and happy. To never know war or hunger or fear.” Anakin shivered, hearing his own desires reflected back, knowing they were shared. “I want you to have peace. And joy. I want…” he trailed off, opening his eyes, helplessness written all over his expression.

Anakin shifted closer, trying to determine how to tell Obi-Wan that he could have all of those things, that Anakin would do whatever it took to ensure he got them. But this was not what he had meant, when he asked. Not really. He asked, “And what do you want for you?”

Obi-Wan’s expression shifted. His cheeks flushed and his eyes darkened. He rasped, “I want…” And he gave up again, blew out a hard breath, pushed up onto his toes, placed a hand on the side of Anakin’s face, and kissed him.

Anakin froze for an instant. It was no hesitant kiss, nothing at all like the soft brush they’d exchanged after the Siege of Coruscant. The kiss was hungry, inexperienced, and so good that for a moment Anakin’s thoughts went white. He made a desperate sound, pressing closer, deepening the kiss, pouring everything he had into it. If Obi-Wan wanted to be kissed, then he would be kissed utterly and completely.

Obi-Wan’s fingers spasmed in his hair, a wave of shock brushing against Anakin’s thoughts, though, surely, Obi-Wan could not still be surprised that Anakin wanted him, wanted to kiss him, taste him, have him in any way possible. The thoughts fed the desires in Anakin’s bones and he pushed closer, so Obi-Wan could feel the effect he had.

And Obi-Wan groaned against his mouth.

He could imagine nothing but pressing his advantage, so he did, nipping at Obi-Wan’s lips. Obi-Wan panted, deliciously, when Anakin nudged his head to the side and bent to his neck, tasting his skin, sucking and--

And Obi-Wan gasped, “Wait.”

Anakin jerked back, breathing hard. He wanted to peel off Obi-Wan’s clothes. He wanted to--to press teeth to skin and leave a mark, so everyone would stop threatening what was his. He wanted to kiss and touch each inch of skin. He wanted to join their flesh together, to bury himself, to-- He panted, swallowing desperately at the air, and waited.

Obi-Wan looked disheveled already. His tunics hung crooked. His neck showed evidence of Anakin’s attentions. His mouth was red and kiss-stung. “I need to be clear,” Obi-Wan rasped, his eyes all-pupil, his skin flushed. “I want--I don’t want to hide. I don’t want to lie. What I want… it will, we wouldn’t be able to, it would mean--”

“I know,” Anakin interrupted. He could see Obi-Wan’s worries, despite the trouble he had voicing them. Something inside him snapped. It had been snapping for so long that the crack of it came as a relief. He swallowed a laugh at Obi-Wan’s expression, suddenly buoyant. “Kriff the Jedi. The war is--the war is _over,_ Obi-Wan. Dooku’s dead. The Separatist fleets are in tatters. Grievous is broken. It’s over. We won. Isn’t that balance? Didn’t I already do what the Force wanted?” The words were a relief to speak. He felt lighter than he had in, well, as long as he could remember. “I don’t care about the Council. Or being a Master. Or--any of it. I don’t…” He felt clear-headed, the magnificent sense of clarity that he associated with a fever breaking, a sudden return to lucidity after long madness.

Obi-Wan stared at him, his expression unguarded for once in his life, full of hope and worry. Anakin smiled at him, stepping back close. He cupped Obi-Wan’s face and kissed him again, softer, trying to convey what he couldn’t seem to put into words. He murmured, against Obi-Wan’s mouth, “Not the way I want this. I want you. Leave the Order, Obi-Wan. Come away with me.”

Obi-Wan shivered. He asked, his voice quiet, “Are you sure?”

Anakin blinked. “What?”

Obi-Wan swallowed. His emotions coiled over one another like writhing snakes. “It’s just... Anakin. You _are_ an alpha. I’m carrying your child. You might not--”

Anakin barked a laugh, tilted Obi-Wan’s face up and kissed him again, crowding close, wanting Obi-Wan to look at him, to _see_ what he seemed so blind to, despite everything Anakin said. That Obi-Wan worried about him still, about his commitment, made his chest ache. “I am _thrilled_ you bear my child.” Obi-Wan’s expression tightened. “I’d be a fool to deny it. But, Obi-Wan.” He leaned closer, tucked his mouth against Obi-Wan’s ear, and continued, “There was no child when I chased you on Circindia, and I would have killed every other man there to have you. There was no child for the years I’ve loved you. There was no child on Geonosis, when I scented you and wanted to have you under the sun, in front of--”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan groaned, but he did not _feel_ upset. Just overwhelmed.

Anakin sucked kisses to his skin, feeling Obi-Wan’s restless hands move across his shoulders, still unsure where to grab, to hold. He whispered, “Let me give you what you want.” His mouth curved into a grin. “Unless you want to go resign right now?”

Obi-Wan pulled on his hair, yanking his head up and pressing a desperate kiss to his mouth. “That can wait,” Obi-Wan panted. “For a little while.” And Anakin smiled against his mouth, and tugged, walking him backwards until they found the tiny bed.

It differed from the first time, though not by as much as Anakin had anticipated. There was wild need in each touch, and desperation, sprung from a different source. They had so much time to make up for; once Anakin started touching he could not stop. Obi-Wan seemed unopposed, learning fast, giving voice, finally, to what he wanted.

Anakin endeavored to give him everything he asked for.


	6. Chapter 6

Obi-Wan got little sleep and for once he did not mind. Emotion--want and need--consumed him, demanding to be sated. He and Anakin had chosen a way forward; it seemed foolish, after resisting for so long, not to pursue it fully. He relearned the pleasures of intimacy, experiencing them more clearly than he had on Circindia, when his mind had been in a haze of near-madness.

This time, the kisses and touches did not smear together. Each existed on its own, beautiful and unique, intoxicating. This time he could make sense of the words Anakin panted against his skin. This time he cared when Anakin grew impatient and tore his tunic, but not very much. This time, it was not some maddening ache that drove them together. They chose it, fully, and that tightened Obi-Wan’s gut, and flooded heat between his legs.

He expected Anakin to be rougher, needy, after they’d denied themselves for so long. But he was careful, for all the desperation in his eyes. “Force,” he panted, as they made a mess of Obi-Wan’s cot. He chanted it, his hips rolling, Obi-Wan’s fingers sliding over his sweat-slick skin, scrambling desperately for purchase as pleasure swamped his world, torn from him all in a rush.

Obi-Wan stared up at the ceiling, his skin humming with satisfaction, trying to decide what he thought of the strange sensation of their joining. He had not been clear-headed enough to consider it, before. It felt… _good_ , he realized. _Very_ good, even with Anakin stilled for the moment, breathing hard and thrumming with contentment. Obi-Wan shifted, curious, and gasped at the feeling it provoked.

Anakin buried a groan against his skin, throaty, and Obi-Wan took it as provocation to shift again. Anakin caught his hips and squeezed, holding him still. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to…” he panted, and Obi-Wan’s spine tingled at the warning in his tone.

“You’re going to what?” Obi-Wan asked, curious, interested. This was all so new. So far he quite enjoyed it. Anakin sat up enough to stare into his eyes, his gaze incendiary as he shifted back and thrust in again hard, purposefully.

Obi-Wan sucked in a breath, shivering. Anakin’s eyes darkened further, and he released his grip on Obi-Wan’s hips. Obi-Wan raised a brow and rocked against him, a dare and an invitation in the movement.

Anakin made a raw, pleased sound, shifted to change the angle of his hips and--oh, _Force_.

#

They got little sleep. For once, Anakin did not mind. He had far more important things to be doing than wasting time on dreams. A part of him still worried that this would disappear at any moment, that Obi-Wan would change his mind, that Anakin would wake up. But that did not happen. Obi-Wan remained, real and living, tangled with him, glorious and perfect.

At one point, Anakin’s communicator buzzed from the other side of Obi-Wan’s room, but there were no alarms going off and he didn’t sense any panic from Ahsoka, so he ignored it. Eventually it stopped. Several times they dozed, worn out by their exertions, and each time Anakin woke up Obi-Wan was still there, naked and radiating a sense of contentment that Anakin could not help but feeling smug about.

The final time Anakin woke up it was to a change in Obi-Wan’s breathing, gone suddenly short and fast. It drew Anakin out of his light sleep, tugging on his senses. He blinked, seeing nothing different in the room, though it was messier than it had been. Most of Obi-Wan’s blankets were on the floor, piled with Anakin’s tunic, which was, after it had been conscripted into use as a rag, never going to be the same again. “What’s going on?” he mumbled, his limbs heavy and sated.

Obi-Wan grabbed his hand, instead of answering, placing it palm-down on his stomach. Anakin blinked, still not fully awake. Obi-Wan felt… excited, perhaps a little worried. He stared at Anakin, wide-eyed, and whispered, “I can feel a heartbeat.”

Anakin’s mind blanked, for a shivery moment, until the words suddenly clicked. “You…” Anakin trailed off, too focused on stretching out his senses to worry about speaking. He splayed out his fingers across Obi-Wan’s bare skin, half-terrified that he would not feel it too, that he would somehow be rejected, that--

It reverberated against his senses. A heartbeat. Tiny and fast. Anakin laughed, delight bursting within him as he shifted, replacing his hand with the side of his face, his ear pressed against Obi-Wan’s stomach, where mostly he just heard rumbles to remind him that they had skipped dinner and, likely, breakfast. Obi-Wan touched his hair, and Anakin squeezed his eyes shut, against the sudden burn of tears. He did not even know where they came from. “There’s a heartbeat,” he said, and laughed again.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan sounded dazed, as though he did not quite believe it. Anakin could barely fit his mind around it, himself. He pressed a kiss to a scar below Obi-Wan’s ribs, reaching out to check the new beat again, and frowned. “What?” Obi-Wan demanded, his fingers tightening in Anakin’s hair. “What’s wrong?”

Anakin held up a hand, focusing. There was something… strange. He cocked his head to the side, confused. He rested a hand on Obi-Wan’s chest, feeling his heart--it was beating too slowly to be what he felt. “I--what is that? It’s almost like an echo, can you feel it?”

“Oh, Force,” Obi-Wan said, after a moment, sitting straight up and dislodging Anakin, all the color suddenly draining out of his face. “There’s not _a_ heartbeat. There are _two_.”

The words took a beat to sink in, and then Anakin smiled, burying his face against Obi-Wan’s skin and shaking with the force of his sudden laughter. He did not know how else to handle the revelation.  “Twins,” he managed, pressing absent kisses everything. “Force, we’re going to have twins. You’re going to be huge.”

Obi-Wan made a strangled sound, worrying his fingers through Anakin’s hair. “Proud of yourself, are you?” he asked, sounding dazed.

Anakin propped his chin up and smiled wider.

The future, for once, looked full of promise.

#

Obi-Wan still felt as though he were dreaming, as they crawled out of his wrecked bed. He visited the fresher, washing his skin, surprised, frankly, by the absence of bruises. After their first experience, he had expected to find marks left by mouth and hands all over his skin. There was nothing for him to press curiously, though his body _did_ ache deliciously. What remained to remind him of their nightly exertions was washed away. He frowned and shook his head.

He bathed and dressed quickly, stepping back into his quarters to find Anakin sitting on the edge of the bunk, frowning at his communicator. “Did we miss something?” Obi-Wan asked, unsure why he had bothered with a towel around his hips. Anakin had seen and touched all there was to see and touch. Modesty seemed pointless.

“Hm?” Anakin looked up and his eyes darkened. He tossed the communicator away absently and stood to stalk over to Obi-Wan. He had _not_ done anything to cover his nudity, his body was muscle wrapped in bronzed skin and scar tissue. He curled his arms around Obi-Wan, bending to steal a kiss.

“I just got cleaned up,” Obi-Wan said, when Anakin picked at the towel.

“You did,” Anakin agreed, and kissed his neck, his shoulder, his collarbone, the center of his chest, the shivery skin above his hip, lower…

Obi-Wan thumped his head back against the bulkhead, curled his fingers into Anakin’s hair, and forgot everything else, for a while, until Anakin surged back to kiss him, his mouth salty-bitter. Obi-Wan groaned into the kiss, hypersensitive, shivering when Anakin moved to his neck again--whining when the touch passed with only the briefest brush of teeth.

“What?” Anakin asked, lifting his head immediately. “Was that too much?”

“No,” Obi-Wan could string that much together. He blinked, trying to focus. “No, it was…” He waved a hand and rocked up to kiss Anakin’s mouth, only to be caught back.

Anakin looked concerned. “It was what?”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan grumbled, with a roll of his eyes. “Good. Let me just. Ah.” He reached down. Anakin had not enjoyed himself nearly as much as Obi-Wan so far that morning.

Anakin grabbed his wrist, cocking his head to the side. “You’re not--are you unhappy about something?”

“Of course not,” Obi-Wan said, half-laughing, wondering how Anakin could even ask. Anakin did not seem willing to laugh it off, and Obi-Wan sighed, leaning back against the wall, sticky against his rapidly cooling skin. “Just. The first time. You were.” He swallowed, heat building beneath his skin. “Rougher.”

Anakin grimaced and eased back a step. “I know. I know I was. I’m sorry about that, it won’t happen again, you don’t have to worry about it.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him. Oh. He’d assumed that Anakin _preferred_ … But it made sense that Circindia would have affected the way Anakin usually… performed. He cleared his throat. “Ah,” he said, aiming for acceptance. He’d probably just wanted the increased aggression because it was all he’d had, as far as experience. It obviously wasn’t necessary for his enjoyment. The previous night had proved that. “Alright. Well. You didn’t have to apologize--”

“Wait,” Anakin said, his eyes darkening all at once as he sucked in a breath. He went curiously still, his hair falling over his face and his hands twitching at his sides. “Wait. You…” He took another breath, deeper, and was pressed close again suddenly, just like that. “You _liked_ it,” he said, low and thick and pleased.

“I, well.” Obi-Wan cleared his throat. He shrugged. “I did, but you don’t _have--_ ”

Anakin made a wordless sound of pleasure and swallowed the rest of the words, his grip tightening until the world narrowed to his touch. “Force, Obi-Wan,” he panted, “you’re going to kill me.” And he tugged Obi-Wan’s head back, and sucked at his skin, as though some dam inside him had ruptured. Obi-Wan shivered and pulled him closer, looking for more.

Afterwards, Anakin stretched, languid and pleased, across the floor, and cast him a delighted grin. Bruises in the shape of Anakin’s fingers marked his hips--deeper and darker from his mechanical hand. The curve of his left shoulder still stung. Anakin’s gaze drifted over the marks and his smile grew wider. He asked, “That what you wanted?”

“It was.” Obi-Wan threw the towel, messy now, across Anakin’s face, and asked, “Who was that, on your communicator?”

Anakin pulled the towel off and grimaced, just a little. “It was, uh, the Chancellor.”

Obi-Wan blinked. Of all the possible options, that was one of the last he had expected. “What did he want?”

Anakin sighed, sitting up. “He wanted to know where we were. I’d told him we’d join him at the opera last night. But…” Anakin gestured at the bed, as though offering an explanation. Obi-Wan snorted a laugh. He couldn’t help it. Only Anakin would make plans with one of the most powerful men in the galaxy and then decide to ignore them completely. Anakin winced. “I should probably go apologize to him. Or… I don’t know. Should we speak with him about what the Senators said?”

Obi-Wan pulled on a pair of pants--he hadn’t gotten _that_ messy, and water was in short supply on the ship, it would be wasteful to go clean up again. “I’m not sure it’s time to bring it up, yet.” He got the feeling that if Palpatine realized that the Senators were aware of what he was trying to do, it would not end well for any of them.

Anakin rolled to his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Maybe he just needs to explain what he’s thinking. Maybe someone else put those provisions into the bills.”

Obi-Wan hummed, tugging on a clean tunic. He felt that was about as likely as a bantha giving birth to a bothan, but it was, broadly, _possible_.

“Then again,” Anakin continued, pulling on his own, rumpled clothes. “I guess it’s not really our problem anymore, right?” He said it slowly, with no small degree of wonder.

Obi-Wan turned the thought over in his head. It felt so strange as to be alarming. But he could not deny it. “I suppose,” he said, fighting against a reflexive denial. Everything had seemed to be their problem for so long. The thought of letting it go, handing it off to someone else, was almost frightening.

Anakin frowned, then, shoving his hair back from his face. “We’ll have to tell Ahsoka. About resigning. Before the Council. I don’t want her to hear, you know. Secondhand.”

Obi-Wan nodded, not looking forward to that. He had no idea what leaving behind a Padawan would feel like, but they could not force her to leave the Order, and she seemed… happy. As happy as any of them were. “And our men.”

The words sunk in as Obi-Wan said them, and he reached out to brace a hand on the wall. They would be leaving their men, potentially to face further battles, if this peace did not solidify. Some of them, Obi-Wan had known for years. Others had only just come into his care, they would need special looking after in the field or they would die, like so many of their brothers. Hundreds--thousands--could die that might not have, if…

“Hey,” Anakin said, quietly, skimming a hand up Obi-Wan’s arm. “You alright?” He forced levity that Obi-Wan did not feel from him into his tone. “Having second thoughts?”

“No.” Obi-Wan looked up at him, blinking away the dread in his stomach. The choice they had made felt necessary--right in the Force. There’d been no other way forward. Not where they both stayed sane. But that did not make the overall situation of the galaxy any more palatable. “Just… concerned with what it will mean for everyone else.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Anakin promised. He rested his forehead against Obi-Wan’s, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, drawing comfort and extending his own. He was not sure that they would be able to find a solution, but it was nice to imagine, for a moment, that they could.

#

Palpatine watched the sunrise over filthy Coruscant, the light from the sun slowly drowning the smaller lights of the city itself. He stood by the windows in his hated Senate office--so small and pitiful, for all that it was necessary--and stoked the slow-burning anger in the center of his chest, carefully tucked away from any nosy Jedi. It had grown so large, of late, that disguising it from them took more energy than he would have preferred.

He could _feel_ the joy and contentment shining off of Skywalker, so focused on the boy after all the careful years of grooming that his emotions could be sensed even from orbit with a little bit of effort. The emotions had plagued him as he prepared for the opera the previous night and they had not faded since then.

His calls had been ignored. The subtle nudges against the boy’s mind had been brushed aside, if they even reached him. All of Skywalker’s thoughts were so concerned with _Kenobi_.

The troublesome Jedi would have to be handled. Palpatine had intended to put that particular chore off for some time yet. In an ideal world, he would have tightened the noose around Skywalker further, before taking such a drastic step. He would have removed the Padawan, planted doubt about Kenobi’s loyalty, soured Skywalker’s relationship with that Senator he liked…

Only then would he have brought Kenobi forth and killed him, breaking whatever remained of Skywalker’s will by that point.

But all of Palpatine’s plans had been pushed ahead of schedule. And by what? A fertile omega? A random chance for Skywalker to breed? It was _ridiculous_. Already it had cost him the largest Separatist fleet likely to ever be raised, Dooku’s death, the utter failure of the Death Watch…

Palpatine’s nails bit into his palms and he forced his hands to relax, breathing slowly and deeply, banking his rage for later use, for that sweet moment when he would have Kenobi at his mercy.

The man had to die. Soon. And the child with him. If he had just kept his legs _closed_....

But he had not. And Palpatine’s influence had been damaged extensively in the last few months. He could no longer count on Dooku assassinating the Jedi whore. He had no doubt Grievous would be cut to pieces soon--his latest reports said Secura and Fisto had both joined Koon to hound the General down. Even the magnificent monstrosity could not stand against so many Jedi Masters, not bolstered as they were by their recent successes. He could not call upon another attack by the Separatists, those weaklings had broken and were determined to settle a peace, despite every threat he’d made to them.

There was only him, as it had ever been in his life. Just him, standing against the galaxy.

Well.

Him and his _other_ army. They, at least, would be loyal to him. And there were so _many_ of them at the Temple these days. He had not intended for the clones to grow so attached to their Jedi generals. In his perfect imaginings, they had, in fact, hated one another. But he found that he quite enjoyed how it had worked out. The majority of the clones would have gladly jumped in front of a blaster bolt for their precious Jedi.

A smile, his first of the night, curled up the corner of his mouth as he wondered what it would do to their minds, when they were the ones behind the trigger.

At least he had _something_ to look forward to.

#

“You need to change before we go talk to… anyone,” Obi-Wan told Anakin, when they finally stepped out of his quarters. He could admit that there was something appealing about seeing Anakin so rumpled, but it was hardly appropriate for what the day held. Especially considering the uses they’d put his tunic to. “You’ve got some... “ He gestured towards the stains.

Anakin grinned at him. He seemed incapable of stopping. It was nice. “Some _what_ , Obi-Wan?” he teased.

“You know what it is,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring the heat in his face. It was ridiculous, but old habits died hard, and there were troopers in the hall.

Anakin laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll change,” he said. “Then we’ll get some lunch?” Obi-Wan’s stomach rumbled as if on cue. It had been a long time since his last meal and it had all been full of vigorous activity.

Anakin opened his quarters and stepped inside, eyebrows arched in an invitation that Obi-Wan nearly took him up on, before shaking his head. “No. We’ll get distracted.”

“Do I distract you?” Anakin asked, grinning again, peeling his tunic up and over his head.

Obi-Wan closed his door and leaned against the wall to wait for him, rolling his eyes at the entire situation. He tried to think through the daunting day ahead and was interrupted near immediately, when Cody turned down the hall; Obi-Wan was increasingly sure his troopers were monitoring his movements and wasn’t sure, exactly, how to feel about that. Then again, it wouldn’t be an issue soon.

He sighed, thinking about conversations that needed to be had. He might as well get started. There was no use putting it off. “Commander,” he said, as Cody walked over, looking up from the datapad he held.

“General.” Cody scented him, and something shifted in his expression--anger or understanding or something more complicated than either of those emotions. Whatever it was disappeared after a second, tucked away. “We were beginning to wonder if we should send in a rescue squad.”

Obi-Wan pictured that and said, “I’m relieved you didn’t.”

Cody eyed him, up and down, and said, “I bet.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. Most of the other troopers had cleared the hall, moving on to complete their assignments. It was not exactly private, but it was better than they got, most of the time. And there was no use putting the conversation off. He said, “We’re going to resign.” There didn’t seem to be a more subtle way to put it, no matter how much Obi-Wan thought about it. Cody froze, not even blinking. Obi-Wan fought not to squirm. “Anakin and I. From the Order. We’re…” He gestured at himself, helplessly. “You know. Its twins, by the way,” he added, when Cody continued to stare, and he felt he needed to throw out something else, anything else, to fill the silence.

Cody blinked, finally. He said, sounding distant, “Twins?” He tucked away the datapad he’d been reading off of and dropped his gaze to stare at Obi-Wan’s stomach. A slow smile curled up the corners of his mouth. “There’s going to be two? Multiples?” He sounded smugly pleased. Obi-Wan wondered if that were natural, for a clone. Would most of them approve of multiple babies sharing a womb, think of such a pregnancy more highly than they would a single birth?

“If all goes well,” Obi-Wan said. Feeling the heartbeats had… changed something, somehow. It made the pregnancy real in a way that it hadn’t seemed before. It was not like he was showing, yet. And he’d had no morning sickness to speak of. But there were heartbeats, now. That meant there were hearts. The simple thought kept battering its way into Obi-Wan’s thoughts and demanding his complete attention.

Cody jerked his head back up, his expression tightening. “Of course it’s going to go well,” he said. “You’re healthy and strong. And… leaving the Order.” He spoke slowly, like he was examining the news from every angle. He narrowed his eyes. “That mean you’re not going to be fighting anymore?”

It meant they would be doing something like deserting, and Obi-Wan knew it. But it could not be helped. They could not stay. He shrugged. “Possibly. The Order _has_ worked with individuals who left before, if it was necessary. We’ll still do whatever we can to help. We won’t abandon all of you.”

In fact, they had not discussed such a thing, but Obi-Wan knew Anakin was equally dedicated to his men. Neither would want to just leave them to their fate, if, indeed, the war dragged on.

Cody blinked at him again, looking taken aback. “Of course not. We’ll be coming with you.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, not sure how he had not anticipated this. He wondered if he had just asked his entire regiment to defect, inadvertently. He wondered how he was going to explain it, if he had. He had never known quite how to view desertion by the troopers. They had not volunteered for the war they fought. They were given no decision about killing and dying, and that sat poorly with him. He could not begrudge them the decision to go forge a different life, elsewhere. On the other hand, the Senate had decreed it a capital crime for them to leave their posts.

Obi-Wan had handled the situation, when it arose, by simply not noticing when troopers disappeared. Sometimes he managed to lose a few credits, or a ship, when it seemed necessary to ensure that they made it somewhere, anywhere safe. It was the most he could do for them. He’d had relatively few desertions, in any case, compared to some of the other Generals.

Anakin picked that moment to emerge from his quarters, his hair damp and his tunic a little crooked. He spotted Cody and frowned, his eyes widening when Cody stepped towards him and clapped him on the shoulders. “I hear its twins,” Cody said, all evidence of approval in his voice. And then he tugged Anakin closer and hissed something in his ear too quietly for Obi-Wan to hear. He stepped back, then, patted Anakin hard on the arm, turned, nodded at Obi-Wan, and said, “I’ll get everything settled with the men.”

And then he marched down the hall.

“What did he say to you?” Obi-Wan asked; Anakin looked somewhere between confused, impressed, and offended.

“Nothing,” Anakin said, shaking his head. “What’s he getting settled?”

Obi-Wan winced. “That… might be a long story.”

#

“So, basically,” Anakin said, settling in the pilot’s seat while Obi-Wan’s honor guard, or whatever they were going to call themselves, got strapped into the back of their ship, “when we leave, your entire battalion wants to come with us?”

“I don’t think it’ll be the entire battalion,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin snorted. He knew his own men were loyal; as far as he was concerned he’d trust any of them with his life. But Obi-Wan had developed a rapport with his troopers that he’d even heard Master Windu comment on. It wasn’t unique, exactly. He’d heard similar murmurs about General Secura, for one. Windu had attributed it to their status as omegas, and Anakin couldn’t dispute it. It was as good an explanation as anything else. And it explained why he sometimes thought his troopers who throw him over if they had to choose between him and Ahsoka. “And… we don’t even know what the Council will say, really.”

“They can’t force us to remain Jedi,” Anakin said, a hint of tension creeping into his thoughts. They might _try_. And he knew they would try to claim the entire idea was a mistake, especially on Obi-Wan’s part. Obi-Wan reached out and touched Anakin’s arm, calmly the sour fear before it could creep too far into Anakin’s thoughts.

“Let’s just talk to Ahsoka.”

That proved more difficult than it should have. She wasn’t in her quarters, and, based on how neatly her bunk was made, she hadn’t been there at all the previous day. Anakin scowled, reached out to her and sensed nothing but hunger. She felt close by. They found her, finally, down in the quarters that had been arranged for troopers staying at the Temple. She sat in one of the mess halls, surrounded by troopers, finishing her lunch at the end of one table, Rex eying the pile on her plate with a look that was both impressed and faintly horrified. Growing Togrutas ate quite a lot, and nutrients were, generally, hard to come by when they were out on the front. She always made up for lost time when they happened to pass through civilization.

“There you are,” Anakin said, nudging Obi-Wan towards a vacated seat and straddling the one beside it. “We looked for you in your quarters,” he added.

Ahsoka looked at him and then across at Obi-Wan. She shrugged. “I stayed down here,” she said. “I’m used to bunking down with the men in the field. It felt weird to try to sleep without anyone else around.”

Anakin frowned. It was a new behavior, for her. Usually she stayed in her quarters when at the Temple. “Snips, room is tight down here and--”

“She was no trouble, sir,” Rex interrupted, passing Ahsoka a slab of some kind of greasy meat that she’d been surreptitiously glancing at on his plate. “We like having a Jedi around.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes at his captain and asked her, “Where’d you even sleep?” Each bunk down in the trooper quarters was assigned, he knew that much. And there’d been no recent casualties to open up space.

Ahsoka looked over at Obi-Wan again, and Rex said, “I gave her my bunk.” Anakin frowned, holding Rex’s gaze, expecting the trooper to look away, surprise surging through his chest when the man didn’t. “I like the floor better, anyway,” Rex added, each word carefully measured, just slightly chilly. “These bunks are too soft for me.”

Ahsoka cleared her throat. “Why were you looking for me, Master?”

Anakin looked away from Rex, focusing on all the filled seats around the room and frowning. Obi-Wan said, “Why don’t you finish that? We’ll talk outside.” He was not entirely surprised when Rex followed them out of the mess hall.

The Temple halls seemed unnecessarily full of Jedi, no matter how many times Anakin reminded himself that it didn’t matter, not really. They were _all_ going to know. He could have swept Obi-Wan up and kissed him thoroughly in the middle of the mess hall, if he’d really wanted to. But the habit of hiding was a hard one to break. They ended up meandering their way to one of the gardens, and a spot of quiet, before any of them really spoke.

“Alright,” Ahsoka said, when Anakin was looking around one more time to make sure they had some privacy. “What’s going on?” She’d crossed her arms and looked half-sick. Perhaps it would have been better to just blurt it out, instead of worrying her.

“Look,” Anakin said, and then faltered. He could not ignore, entirely, that she might hate him for what he had to tell her. She was a Jedi, after all, raised with it, like Obi-Wan. She could very well not understand. He grimaced and tried again. “Look. It’s. Well. Obi-Wan and I have been talking. About things. The future.” He cast a pleading look in Obi-Wan’s direction, for all that they’d discussed, on the flight down, that he should be the one to deliver the news. She was _his_ Padawan, after all.

Obi-Wan sighed and ducked his head. “Ahsoka….”

“You’re leaving,” she said, quietly. “You’re leaving the Order. Aren’t you?” She sounded numb, and Anakin could not read the expression on her face, especially not when distracted by Rex’s slow creep forward, until he was standing between them.

Anakin grimaced. “Yes. We are. I mean. We haven’t spoken to the Council yet. We wanted to tell you first. But. There’s nothing for us here, anymore. You know me, Snips. What would I do as a Jedi in peacetime? I wouldn’t fit.” He shrugged, weakly. “You’re a better Jedi than me already. I’m just…” He trailed off. It was hard to admit that he had never felt like he belonged, not for all the years he’d tried.

Some things just weren’t meant to be, and maybe the Council had been right, years ago, when they’d said he wasn’t fit to be a Jedi. The thought stung, but the pain of it was soothed, somewhat, by the brush of Obi-Wan’s fingers, the glow in the Force of his children. So maybe he _wasn’t_ supposed to be a Jedi. There were plenty of other things to be. Husband and father were a nice start.

Ahsoka stared hard at the ground. Her voice sounded flat and far away when she asked, “What will you do?”

Anakin had not anticipated that question. He’d anticipated yelling. It’s what he would have done, if Obi-Wan had sprung this on him. He floundered, and then grabbed onto Obi-Wan’s prior suggestion, in lieu of anything better to say, “I think we’ll, I don’t know, do something to help the troopers. If the war really _is_ over. They’ll need somewhere to go.”

Ahsoka maintained her staring match with the ground. “You could do that with the Order,” she said.

Anakin sighed. He thought about stepping towards her, but it didn’t seem like a good idea, in the moment. He said, “Yes. But we also want to raise our children.”

Ahsoka nodded jerkily. Her beads bounced and clattered against one another. He could see the indents her fingers were making in her arms and his chest ached. “Snips,” he said, quietly, and she flinched. “Look, look, I probably shouldn’t say this. But. But, look, I’m already admitting to attachments today, so, if you want to--we’d want you to come along. I mean. Between the two of us, you’d get all the training you could ask for, and you’re--you’re important to us. No matter what.”

Ahsoka made a soft sound, and Rex shifted his weight from side to side, looking as torn as Anakin had ever seen him.

“You will remain important to us, no matter what you choose,” Obi-Wan added, soft.

Anakin nodded, though she wasn’t looking at him. “Just think about it,” he said and he stepped back, not knowing what else to say or do. She was still standing with her head down, the sun beating down on her back, when they stepped out of the garden to give her some space.

Her response was not a ringing endorsement, but it was still better than Anakin had dared to hope for.

#

“Hey,” Rex said, quietly, after a while. He gone over to the door and stared out for a time, before circling back around. “So that was...” He cleared his throat, making a helpless sound. “You ok?”

“How can they do that?” Ahsoka asked. She kept staring at the ground. At least it was dependable. It didn’t suddenly decide to become the kriffing _sky_. She scuffed her toe against it, distantly aware of pain in her arms and a sting in the corners of her eyes. “How can they just decide they’re going to leave the Order?”

Rex shrugged. She could feel his discomfort and confusion with the situation. “It’s no place to raise a kid.”

Ahsoka swallowed around the lump in her throat. “ _I_ was raised here,” she protested, hating the sharpness of her tone. “So was Master Obi-Wan.”

“So maybe he knows what he’s doing, then. It’s their choice, anyway. What are--what are you going to do?”

Ahsoka glanced up, not used to feeling so much anxiety off of him. They still stood alone in the garden, though the sun did not feel so warm and pleasant as it had before. “I don’t know,” she said, hating that she did not. There should have been no decision at all. She should have wanted to stay with the Order. _Someone_ else would take her on as a Padawan. Maybe even Master Koon. That wouldn’t be so bad.

_But_.

But she could not deny that the end of the war loomed like the end of the world. What would she do, afterwards, without a battle to fight? Would her life be all meditation and dull diplomatic visits to worlds she remembered as covered with blood and blaster bolts? How would that work?

What would happen to the troopers, if an armistice was completed? Would they stay? Would they go? What would it be like to no longer have them around? To have only other Jedi and civilians under foot?

What would tomorrow bring? Tonight? The future yawned in front of her like a chasm with no bottom, so deep and dark that it sucked at her, like it was trying to draw her in so it could swallow her…

She saw, in a flash, blaster bolts in the Temple and bodies, so many bodies. Troopers, strewn all over the bunks in their quarters. She smelled the stink of dead bodies, terribly familiar. She felt blood on her throat, a terrible pain in her side, a hand pushing her back. She heard whispery words, scratching like jagged nails at her thoughts. “ _A good soldier follows orders._ ”

“Hey,” Rex said, drawing her thoughts from the future’s darkness like a slap. She jerked, gasping at the air, and he shook her by the shoulders. She realized it was not the first time he had done it. He’d leaned down to meet her eyes, but did not have to go very far, not anymore. She’d be of a height with him, soon. “Hey,” he repeated, his dark eyes tight with worry, “you there?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. It felt like she’d been screaming. “Yes, sorry. I just… I got distracted.”

He stared at her for another moment and then nodded, slowly. “As long as you’re alright.”

#

“That could have gone better,” Anakin grumbled, guilt and frustration flaring through his emotions.

Obi-Wan sighed. He said, “It could have gone worse.”

“True. She didn’t try to stab us.” He barked a harsh laugh and drew to a stop, standing in front of one of the Temple’s large windows. He glared out over the city and asked, “What if she doesn’t come with us?” They had not even talked about it, but if Obi-Wan was going to drag along his battalion, Anakin felt justified in wanting his Padawan. She felt like a part of his family, too. He didn’t want to leave her here, alone, unprotected.

Obi-Wan folded his hands, following the line of Anakin’s gaze. “We can’t force her,” he said, quietly, before drawing in a little bracing breath and squaring his shoulders. “Anakin. If you are having second thoughts, I--”

Alarm sang across Anakin’s nerves. He turned, startled, and curled his hand against Obi-Wan’s neck, leaning closer. “I’m not,” he promised, unnerved to see the worry on Obi-Wan’s face, to see proof that if he just said the word Obi-Wan would...what? Just turn around and walk away? Pretend the previous night had never happened? He shuddered. “Never doubt that.”

He ducked, then, and stole a soft kiss, daring the affection there, deep in the Temple, uncaring. Obi-Wan made a soft sound of surprise, and a throat cleared, pointedly, from close by.

Anakin cut his gaze to the side, and found Master Yoda staring up at them, leaning on his cane, his expression utterly inscrutable.

“Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan said, clearing his throat and smoothing his robes. “We were just coming to find you.”

#

Lately it seemed that Yoda would suffer through one surprise after another, none of them quite as surprising as they should have been. He had been given a vague sense of the attack on the Temple, of Dooku’s death, and even of the tableau he walked into, in front of a window streaming with light.

The two Jedi seemed unaware of him, utterly distracted with one another, as he cocked his head to the side to watch them. They fit together like two halves of one whole, Skywalker as gentle as Yoda had ever seen him to be when he tilted Kenobi’s jaw up, Kenobi’s eyes fallen shut. The kiss did not look unpracticed. It did not look like a confession. It did not look like the first of anything.

The Force hummed around the pair, peaceful, without agitation, an eddy of calm in the increasingly turbulent world. That, perhaps out of everything, was all that managed to surprise Yoda.

He supposed it should not have. He had sensed the potential for disaster, when Kenobi first walked into the Temple, glowing with the spark of a new life. But there had, also, been the potential for this strange peace. He wondered at it, at its tie to a violation of the Code--for he did not believe for a second this affair was being carried out without attachment--but the Force could be mysterious, even to one as old as he was.

He cleared his throat, finally, when it seemed likely that Skywalker would go for another kiss.

They both jerked towards him, Skywalker unsubtle in his effort to move Kenobi back a step. The serenity in the Force scattered with their movement, and Yoda mourned it, even as Kenobi greeted him and said, “We were just coming to find you.” He cleared his throat and added. “And the rest of the Council, I suppose.”

“Looking for you, as well, we were,” Yoda said, staring at him, trying to understand the will of the Force, though it seemed so strange to him in this instance.

“Oh?” Skywalker asked, a warning in his tone, bristling already, so quick to assume that others meant him or his harm.

Yoda glanced towards him. “Mm. Come. Discuss it all with the Council, we will.” He turned aside, trusting that they would follow him. After a moment, he heard them fall into step behind him. He hoped that the walk to the Council chambers would give him time to sort out his puzzlement with the Force, but he doubted it.

The world had been confused for far too long for it to be that easy.  
#

The Council Chamber felt cool and dark, or that could have just been Obi-Wan’s nerves, strung tight by the conversation stretched before them. He looked at his chair as they entered, following Master Yoda’s slow progress, and felt a moment’s relief that he would never have to sit in it again. It was terribly uncomfortable and so many of the decisions he’d made in it had ended in death and loss. He did not go to it, but stood beside Anakin, as the other Council members turned to note their presence, conversations falling to silence around the room.

“I see you found them,” Master Windu said, stepping away from Master Poof, radiating exhaustion and disapproval.

Obi-Wan glanced around the room, frowning. “We received no communication regarding a meeting.”

“No,” Yoda said, climbing into his chair and settling. “Sent none was. Important the news is, and not to be spread around the Temple. A ceasefire, the Separatists have officially requested.”

Obi-Wan blinked, the relief of it coursing through him on the heels of disbelief. The war had lasted for so long. It seemed mad that it could end, as easily as that. He held his breath, waiting to wake up, or for one of the other Masters to declare it a joke, or for it to be a trick, ending in a sudden attack, as so many Separatist plots had over the years. There was nothing.

“It’s over?” Anakin croaked. He felt as shaken as Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan reached out to him, steadying him.

Master Windu shrugged. “It is a beginning of the end, anyway. It is more than we had yesterday. The Separatist leaders have requested a meeting on neutral ground. We’re sending you two with a group led by Senator Amidala to hammer out a true surrender. You’ll need to leave--”

“Masters,” Anakin interrupted, earning an expression of pure indignation from Master Windu. Anakin all but vibrated with nerves, but he kept his voice steady and his chin up. “I’m sorry. But we will have to decline.”

For a moment there was silence. Master Yoda stared at them both, silent, his eyes half-lidded. It was Master Unduli who finally spoke, her voice only slightly warped by the hologram, “Are you… unwell?”

“We’re resigning,” Obi-Wan said, his voice coming from a strange distance. He remained unconvinced that he was not dreaming. The surprised shouts from around the room allayed his worries, somewhat. Yoda’s strange lack of a reaction earlier had thrown him more severely than he’d realized.

“You’re _what_?” Master Windu’s voice cut above the crowd. It always did.

“Resigning,” Anakin said, shifting a little closer. Obi-Wan wondered if he truly thought the Council posed a threat, or if it were merely some instinctual movement. “From the Order.”

There was silence, then, spreading out around them. The Council stared at them as though they were strange specimens, speaking a language of nonsense. It was somewhat lucky, then, that Obi-Wan was used to the Council looking at him in such as way. Between Qui-Gon and Anakin, it was hardly a rare experience. “Why?” Master Mundi managed to ask, finally.

Anakin reached out for his hand. Obi-Wan gave it, curling their fingers together. “The child. Children. They’re Anakin’s,” he said, like an explanation.

Master Windu stiffened. “Then he will be punished. But you don’t have to leave.”

Obi-Wan grimaced, shaking his head and sending as much calm as he could spare at Anakin, already buzzing with agitation. “That--there is no need for a punishment. We simply can’t follow the Code any longer.” He shrugged, unsure what else there was to say.

“You mean you _won’t_ ,” Master Windu said, his jaw clenched, just like his fists.

“Does it matter?” Anakin asked, sounding honestly puzzled below his frustration. “Does it change anything? You won’t want us here. You _never_ wanted me here. You should be grateful we’re leaving.”

Master Windu stood, and Yoda raised a hand, stilling him with just a movement. “Confused, I am,” Yoda said, his ears drooping. “Ordered, we were, to offer you a seat on the Council. Now, say you are resigning, you do.”

Anakin scowled. “I told him to rescind that request. Before Obi-Wan and I ever made the decision to leave.”

“So you knew the Chancellor made the request?” Master Mundi asked, frowning gravely and leaning forward.

“ _Yes_ ,” Anakin snapped, impatience creeping into his voice. “And I told him I didn’t want it.”

That brought silence back to the room, at least momentarily. They all stared at one another. Master Unduli frowned, breaking the echoing silence. “Master Kenobi,” she said, quietly, “perhaps you would… consider thinking this over. You have been under tremendous amounts of stress and you are…” Her gaze dropped to his stomach. “As you are,” she finished, awkwardly.

Anakin bristled, immediately. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Master Unduli blinked back at him, calm. “This is just… rather sudden. A rash decision now could be regretted later, so--”

Anakin took a step forward, as though planning to challenge a hologram, and Obi-Wan pushed a hand against his chest, a reminder to exercise a modicum of restraint. “Your concern is appreciated, Master Unduli,” Obi-Wan said, trying to maintain what remained of the peace in the room. “But I am thinking quite clearly.”

“Then perhaps you could explain how you came to this decision to the rest of us?” Master Windu asked, still on his feet. At least, Obi-Wan thought, no one had drawn a lightsaber. It could have been much worse. He could not even remember the last time a Jedi had officially left the order. Oh, Jedi left, but it was usually a slow drift away. One day they just stopped coming back and reporting in.

“Obi-Wan doesn’t have to explain anything to you,” Anakin bit out, his heart racing against Obi-Wan’s hand. “You don’t own him. Or me.”

Windu opened his mouth again, and Yoda tapped his stick against the ground once, hard. “Correct, Skywalker is. Leave, they can.” Yoda sighed then, leaning back in his chair, his ears drooping even lower. “Leaving right away, are you planning to?”

Obi-Wan released his hold on Anakin; he no longer seemed primed to charge across the room. “That is up for discussion, I suppose. Why?”

Yoda hummed. “Close to discovering the identity of the Sith Lord who has plagued us so long, we believe we are.”

Master Windu turned to scowl at him. “You cannot share this information with them, not now. They cannot be trusted. Neither of them should even be allowed to remain at the Temple.” Windu did not sound happy to be saying any of it, but the words came out, nonetheless, flat and hard. Merciless

Yoda looked at him until the other Master looked away. “Lecture me on trust, you will not,” Yoda said, finally. “Sense any deception from them, do you?”

Master Windu’s frown deepened. “With all respect, Master Yoda, what I sense is _anger_.”

“Mm,” Yoda hummed, his gaze drifting to Anakin. “Yes. Always a problem, that has been. But accepted it so far, we have. Betrayed us, he never has. No reason to start now, does he have. Keep it that way, perhaps we should.”

Tension thickened the air in the room. Obi-Wan cleared his throat. He asked, desperate for the normalcy promised by the question, “What have you found out about this Sith Lord?”

#

In the end, Anakin and Obi-Wan ended up watching Master Yoda and another Jedi climb aboard a transport that was on its way to pick up the Senatorial delegation that would, hopefully, restore peace to the galaxy. No one seemed inclined to waste time waiting for the Separatists to reconsider. The Jedi had barely paused to grab spare robes before they were on their way. Padme was flushed with glorious purpose when Anakin commed her, and she barely managed to say two words before abandoning the call, hurrying to pack every datapad she thought she might need.

“Do you think they’ll pull it off?” Anakin asked, as the ship rose over their heads. He felt curiously distant from the entire affair. His part of the war had always been on the battlefield; he still didn’t understand why they’d ever considered sending him on a mission of peace. Peace was not in his bones. Perhaps it never had been.

“I hope so,” Obi-Wan said, tracking their progress across the sky. They’d been left alone, for the moment. No one seemed to know what to do with them, really, especially after Yoda had decided that they should be allowed to remain, for the moment. He’d said that he felt they had a role yet to play, in the coming events.

Anakin had no idea what it would be. He assumed perhaps the diminutive master was just trying to convince him to accept the final mission they’d laid at his feet. Then again, Master Yoda saw the future more clearly than most of them. Perhaps it was no ploy at all, merely the best way he could express what he felt through the Force.

Obi-Wan sighed and looked away from the window once the ship was no longer visible on the horizon. His gaze fell on their joined hands. Anakin wondered if he would disentangle his fingers--such expressions of physical affection were strange to both of them, for all that they gave Anakin comfort--but he only stared and asked, “Will you do it?”

Anakin sighed. “I don’t know. It sounds mad.” And it did. The Council’s suggestion that someone high ranking in the Senate had been spying on them, selling information to the Separatists, was not impossible to believe. As a whole, the Senators were greedy, despicable people, all out to further their own interests. Anakin would be the first to suspect any number of them of shady dealings.

But to suspect one of them of being a Sith seemed a step too far. Surely a Sith would have acted by now, especially living so close to the Jedi Temple. Anakin had not found practitioners of the dark side to exhibit noticeable amounts of restraint. And while plenty of the Senators annoyed him, they hardly seemed likely to pick up a lightsaber, or to throw around Force lightning.

Obi-Wan hummed, his hand warm and callused. “Perhaps,” he said, “but I have a feeling that they speak the truth. Do you not sense it, through the Force?”

Anakin frowned. In truth, he had not tried. He had been distracted, he was still distracted, by thoughts of _their_ future, not whatever mad ideas the Council had. He shut his eyes and set those worries aside, trying to feel what Obi-Wan sensed. He thought to give up after a moment, to satisfy himself that it was nothing but nerves and paranoia, but… But there _was_ something. He felt a tangle in the all-encompassing web of the Force, as though a weight drew it down around the Senate. He opened his eyes. “If they’re right, it could be disastrous. A Sith with power in the Senate could do serious harm to the Republic.”

“Especially if he or she wants to stop the peace talks,” Obi-Wan said. He stroked his thumb across the side of Anakin’s hand and asked, again, “Will you do it?”

And he meant: would Anakin talk to the Chancellor one more time? Would he use his closeness to the man to get into his office, to check for suspicious activity that might be hidden from other eyes? Would he use whatever resources he could, to get the information the Council needed?

A day ago, Anakin would have refused. He would have been furious at the suggestion. He’d never cared for undercover work, for missions carried out with lies and deceit. It wasn’t in his nature to work that way. He saw a goal and the simplest way to it was nearly always a straight line. But things had changed. More than anything, he wanted the war to end, to have a safe galaxy for his children to be born into. He did not want to wake up every day wondering if the droid armies would be on their doorstep.

And, frankly, he was irritated, still, with Palpatine.

And the news Padme had shared with Obi-Wan _did_ worry him.

He sighed. “I guess I will. But you shouldn’t come along.”

Obi-Wan stiffened, frowning up at him. “Of course I should,” he said, indignant.

Anakin shook his head. “He’s not going to tell me anything with you there.” It was awkward to admit it, after all the years he had assured Obi-Wan that Palpatine liked him just fine, really, any dislike was all imagined, all in Obi-Wan’s head. Anakin disliked utterly the way the Chancellor had spoken about Obi-Wan the previous day, and it had been too blatant to maintain the lie any longer.

And, for purely selfish reasons, Anakin did not want Obi-Wan along. If there _was_ a Sith hiding at the Senate, well. Anakin wanted Obi-Wan as far away from that danger as possible. He would be safest in the Temple, especially now. It was utterly full of troopers and seemed to be growing more crowded by the moment, as clones found their way there, unsure what else to do with the war idling around them.

They wouldn’t allow any harm to come to Obi-Wan. He had faith in that, at least.

Obi-Wan’s frown deepened and he looked back to the window, but offered no further insistence that he come along. “You should not go alone,” he said, instead.

“I think taking anyone else would be suspicious,” Anakin said. “Don’t you?”

Obi-Wan nodded after a moment. “Take a squad, anyway. They can stay in a ship, hidden, but close enough to jump in, if they’re needed. I’ll ride along--”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin grumbled, bending, resting the side of his head against Obi-Wan’s. “Stay here. Please. Where it’s safe.” And if letting go of the Order meant he could freely ask for this, express this, perhaps it was worth it already. “I’m not going to start a fight,” Anakin added, quietly. “Please.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “I have a bad feeling about you going over there.”

“All the more reason for you to stay _here_ ,” Anakin argued back, because the longer the conversation stretched, the more uneasy he felt. Maybe he _should_ bring Obi-Wan along, keep him close and safe and in easy reach. But there were no Sith in the Temple.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan protested, just as a pair of Padawans dressed in healer’s robes came hurrying down the hall, supporting a container of bacta between them. Anakin watched one trip on her robe, and then it was too late to do anything about it. The bacta went all over Obi-Wan, spattering the corner of Anakin’s robes. For a moment the four of them just stared at one another.

One of the Padawans managed to find her tongue after a moment. “I’m so sorry, Masters, we were just--”

“It’s quite alright,” Obi-Wan said, shaking a hand off with a frown. His robes were soaked. Some of the liquid had even gotten into his hair. He wrung out his tunic and waved off the apologies of the unfortunate Padawans.

“You should get changed,” Anakin said, distracted when his communicator chose that moment to buzz, heralding a message from Master Windu. “I’ll take this,” he said, and Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, but nodded, glancing over his shoulder as he turned to walk towards his quarters.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Obi-Wan called, and it sounded like a promise.

Anakin shoved down his nerves and turned his attention to Master Windu, who asked, “Have you made a decision?”

Anakin smiled, tight. He cast one last look towards the hall Obi-Wan’d disappeared down and nodded. “I’ll meet you in the hangar bays,” he said. “Bring a squad of troopers. Let’s get this done.”

#

Ahsoka spun to a stop at the end of her kata, her sabers still lit, sweat dripping off of her chin. She stood after a moment, her legs and arms aching, her lungs burning from exertion. She rubbed her nose, cracked her neck side to side, and said, “Set them up again.”

“Ahsoka.” She didn’t expect to hear _Anakin’s_ voice. She startled, jerking around to find him leaning against the door to the training rooms. He was watching her, his expression carefully blank. Rex watched them both, wandering over from where he’d been doing his own training, his blacks sweat-soaked. “I wanted to see, you know. How you were.”

Ahsoka scoffed. She’d expected the anger to fade. She’d done everything she could to ease it away, but it remained in a tight little ball under her ribs. That he would leave, after everything they’d been through, that he would _give up_ , it stung it a way she had not expected. “I’m great,” she said. “Just fine.”

Anakin grimaced, stepping into the room. “Ahsoka, look, I have to go on a mission for the Council, but--”

“I thought you were leaving the Order?” she interrupted, taking a step towards him. “I thought you were _quitting_.”

Anakin’s expression tightened further. “You know that’s not what’s going on.”

And she did, if she were being honest. She’d spent more time around Anakin than most. She’d always known he didn’t exactly fit in the Order, especially not without a war to fight. And she could _feel_ what he felt for Obi-Wan, something so complicated and intense that it was nearly blinding. They wouldn’t be happy in the Order.

But he was her Master. They were--had been--something like a family.

She looked away from him, her mouth twisting, unhappy with him, with herself, with the galaxy at large.

“Look,” he said, again. “I have to go do this. But I’ll be back, okay, and we can figure this out. Together. Alright?”

“Sure,” she said, feeling too tired suddenly to manage more. “Do you…” She waved a hand at him, her anger burning out all at once. “You need help. We should come with you.”

Anakin shook his head. “It isn’t that kind of mission, Snips. I should just be going to talk. But Windu and some of his guys will be there for back-up. Just in case.”

“I can round up some men,” Rex said, his hands braced on his hips, his concern suddenly taking on a different slant. “It’ll only take a moment.”

“No. Just… stay here. Obi-Wan is going to be here, too. I don’t think this’ll take long.” He smiled, but it was a stiff thing, without any joy behind it. “Can we talk, though, when I get back?”

Ahsoka looked at him, or at least in his general direction. The throb of hurt was still there, even with the anger burned out to ashes. She didn’t know if she _wanted_ it to fade. That would leave her with nothing but acceptance. She sniffed and crossed her arms tighter. “We’ll see,” she said, and he nodded, and turned, and left without saying anything else.

#

Mace had half-thought that Skywalker just wouldn’t show. There was a part of him, a significant part, that would have preferred that.

But Skywalker appeared, alone, striding across the hangar with his head down and his jaw clenched. Mace watched him silently, sorting his out feelings as best he could. He had spoken against Skywalker’s inclusion on this mission, but had been out-voted. He did not trust the man. He never had. How could he, when he could _sense_ the maelstrom of horror building in the Force, and saw Skywalker standing at the center of it?

“Master Windu,” Skywalker said, reaching Mace’s ship and stopping at the bottom of the ramp with a bow of his head that felt no more respectful than any of the others he had deigned to deliver over the years.

“Skywalker.” At least he was no longer required to offer the man any kind of honorific. “Good of you to join us.”

“Mm.” Skywalker looked to the side, at his own ship, being loaded with that droid he was so attached to, his thoughts swirling and distracted. Mace stared at him, frowning, his fingers twitching. Skywalker’s exit from the Order could have been predicted years ago, more than a decade ago, when he had first walked through the Temple’s doors. Mace would not be sorry to see him go.

But he had dragged Kenobi down with him.

Kenobi--Obi-Wan--had been a good Padawan, a good Jedi, an excellent General.

He did not deserve what Skywalker had done to him. Not after everything else he’d put up with. But nothing could be done about it. It wasn’t Mace’s place to handle it. His place was with the Order, on this ship, on his way to face an evil that could have been behind the hellish years of this war.

He looked away from Skywalker, drawing his mind back to the task at hand, and said, “Keep in touch.”

#

Everything had fallen apart. Decades of work, of careful planning had all been undone in a matter of months. Palpatine’s generals were dead, skewered on Jedi blades. His coalition had given into their cowardly instincts and gone to grovel before a Senate he had so _nearly_ had in hand. He should have done away with Amidala and Organa years ago, but had feared making them martyrs.

Still, every one of those problems could be handled. It would take time, but he was patient. He could wait for another decade, or more, if necessary.

But now the Jedi came for him. He could sense it. They were like beasts with a scent, determined to dig and dig. They would find him, sooner or later, undoing yet more of his careful plans. His only chance lay in the fool they’d chosen to lead the charge.

He _needed_ Skywalker. Needed Skywalker’s raw power now, more than he ever had in the past. And he could have it, if he could just convince the fool to see his point of view. His attachment to Kenobi could be used, at least briefly. If he could be made to fear the Council’s response to their relationship, if he could be made to think the Jedi would be the ones to take Kenobi away from him…

Yes, there was a way forward there. A solution.

And if he could not convince Skywalker to serve him, well. His obedience could be secured through other means.

Palpatine gazed out across the city and saw the way forward. He had done more with less.

He turned away and prepared to greet his guests.

#

Worry scratched its way slowly down through the bottom of Anakin’s stomach, tearing and digging and coring him out with each second he flew closer to the Senate. The sour feeling was terribly familiar to him--he’d felt it when looking for Obi-Wan most recently, but it had lurked inside his skin since he was nine years old. He’d grown accustomed to burying it and moving on.

He had to stay focused on the task at hand. Either the Council was wrong, and he had nothing to worry about, or they were right, and this issue needed handled immediately, before it could grow any worse.

Anakin could not imagine that a Sith would be particularly happy, watching the Separatist army collapse under its own weight, watching the other Sith get cut down one after another by the Jedi.

He landed in a dark mood, working to tuck his emotions away, where they would not prickle against his skin while he spoke with the Chancellor. He did not look up, to where he could sense Master Windu and the troopers, hanging back, waiting. Hopefully, if there was a Sith around, he or she would not grow too suspicious about Windu’s nearby presence.

He walked through the halls, busy with Senators leaving to find dinner or going back to their opulent homes. He ignored them, striding forward, the crowd flowing around him with all the curious looks and whispers he’d long since grown used to.

The Chancellor was in his rooms when Anakin reached them, bursting a swell of hope Anakin hadn’t even realized he’d been nurturing. Palpatine looked at him sadly when the droid escorted Anakin in, the sunset painting his rooms in oranges and harsh reds. “I missed your company last night,” the Chancellor said, sounding like his feelings were still hurt.

Anakin grimaced. “Yes. Sorry about that. Something came up.”

Palpatine sniffed. “I’m sure it was important.”

Memories tugged at Anakin’s thoughts, and he felt his mouth twitch up towards the first smile he’d felt inclined towards for hours. He did his best to hide it behind a hand. It wasn’t appropriate. Not for his current mission. “It was, yes.”

“I see General Kenobi has not tagged along with you this evening.”

Anakin’s smile faded. He could not read the Chancellor’s tone, and his expression looked open and friendly, but… Anakin shook his head. “He’s staying at the Temple.”

The Chancellor hummed. “That is for the best, I’m sure. It is kind of you to spend so much time with an omega in his situation. But it does make me worry for you. You deserve more than the cast-offs of some other--”

Anakin stiffened, taking offense and then feeling terrible for it. It wasn’t like Palpatine had any way to know the truth. But that didn’t have to be the case any longer. Anakin interrupted, before his efforts to stay calm and focused dissolved utterly, “Their mine, actually. The babies. Twins. He’s pregnant with twins. _My_ twins.”

Palpatine stared at him, for a moment looking as shocked as Anakin had ever seen him. And then he grabbed Anakin’s arm and dragged him back a step, hissing, “Quiet, my boy, the walls here have ears, and I am sure you don’t want this information spreading around. Your Council would--”

Anakin felt half-drunk on confessions. Perhaps _more_ than half-drunk. He flashed the Chancellor a grin, and cut in, “The Council knows. We told them earlier.”

“You. You told them what?” Palpatine’s expression had frozen. Perhaps it was too much surprise for his heart. “That you got a child on him? They will not take kindly to that. They will not understand that he entrapped you.”

Anakin blinked at him. He’d expected, in some part of his mind, that the man would be happy for him. Palpatine had always been proud of his successes before. “He most certainly did not. And we told them the truth.” Anakin explained, speaking calmly, worried suddenly about the Chancellor’s health. His color was _terrible_. If this continued there was no way Anakin would be able to focus on looking for the Sith. He’d need to get the Chancellor to a medic. “It was the only thing that made sense.” Anakin could not even begin to imagine what having to hide the relationship would have done to him in the long run. They’d kept what happened a poor secret for two months, and it had torn him up inside. Any longer and he would have gone mad, he felt sure.

Palpatine’s grip tightened around his arm. “Did he make you do this? My dear boy, I understand that you must feel a fondness for him, but to endanger your future for _this_ is not something you should do lightly. You have a promising role to play in the Jedi Order and they will be incredibly suspicious of you, just for giving in to him--”

“Chancellor,” Anakin interrupted, as gently as he could, despite the tinge of true anger in his gut at the assumptions Palpatine dared to consider. At least Obi-Wan was too far away to hear this tripe. He was concerned enough about Anakin’s wishes to believe some of it might have been true. Anakin _knew_ the Chancellor only had his best intentions at heart, but the man seemed truly confused about where Anakin’s loyalties were. “That’s--I don’t think you understand the situation.”

“Are you sure that _you_ do?” the Chancellor asked, looking up at him, his concern deep and pure. “Have you considered all the possibilities at play here? You _know_ the Council has never trusted you. Don’t you think it’s suspicious, how your… tryst with Kenobi came about? They could be using him to control you, trusting that you will fall in line and listen to him now that he is in your bed.”

Anakin stared at him, the words creeping into his mind, silky and enchanting. For a moment they _almost_ made sense, for a moment he could imagine their truth and felt a flare of anger; and then reality shafted them to the side. He shook his head, feeling as though they needed shaken loose, and said, “Have a care what you say.” He realized, belatedly, that his hand had fallen to his lightsaber. He swallowed and removed it. “The Order no longer has any reason to worry about trusting me, as we’re no longer a part of it.”

“You left the Order.” Palpatine looked like perhaps he needed to sit down. Anakin guided him unobtrusively towards his chair. He sounded almost like he was dreaming.

“Well, yes. There was no place for us within it, anymore. And I think we’ve both given it enough.”

“I fear you are making a grave mistake,” the Chancellor said, his expression tight and his shoulders locked. Anakin sighed and pictured Obi-Wan, reaching for him briefly through the Force.

“I don’t think so,” he said. He smiled, soft joy unfolding in his chest. Obi-Wan felt so irritated. Someone had waylaid him for a conversation he did not want to have. Their mirrored circumstances amused Anakin further.

“How do you know these children are even yours?” Palpatine asked, and Anakin’s head snapped back, his nostrils flaring, all of his pleasure dashed in an instant. Palpatine looked at him and his expression turned immediately placating. “I just don’t want to see you taken advantage of, my boy. I know it must be hard to consider, but he has spent a significant amount of time around those clones. And in Dooku’s custody. I have heard--”

“They’re mine,” Anakin said, more of a growl in the words than he’d intended. He took a breath and forced himself to calm down, at least a little. “He’s never even been--” He swallowed and straightened, shaking his head. There were some things that he did _not_ need to go into with the Chancellor. “In any case, I will not be taking the chair on the Council that you requested. I do appreciate all you’ve done for me over the years, but I feel it is time for me to move on. I’m going to have a family now.”

The Chancellor stared at him for a long moment, looking faintly gray, searching for something in Anakin’s eyes before he sighed and shook his head. “No. No, there is no way you will go back, is there?” He cocked his head to the side, seemingly unaware of the strangeness of what he’d said. He looked tired and weary. Disappointed.

And then he stood.

“Well,” he said, “You’re going to wish you’d listened to me, before this is over.”

#

Obi-Wan’s quarters felt unfamiliar when he stepped inside, like a place he no longer belonged, or never had to begin with. He felt like an interloper, treading quietly across the floor, shedding his sodden robe and tossing it to one side. His tunics were a mess as well. He sighed, pulling them off and jumping into the fresher to clean off the sticky bacta.

He kept his thoughts on Anakin, mistrustful of the expression Anakin had last worn; all Obi-Wan felt was worry and what he could no longer believe was anything but love. It was curious and heady. Distracting. His fingers fumbled twice pulling on his new tunic, an old things he had not worn in ages--all of his newer clothes were aboard the _Negotiator_.

He nudged at Anakin through the Force, received a swell of sweet fondness in return, and stepped out of his quarters, nearly running directly into Master Mundi. Cody stepped up at the last moment, catching Obi-Wan’s arm and keeping him a step back from the other Jedi.

“General Kenobi,” Master Mundi said, inclining his head and shooting Cody a curious look. “I was hoping we could speak.”

Obi-Wan summoned a smile. He did not _want_ to talk. He’d caught a swell of sadness from Anakin, and a flash of Ahsoka’s Force signature. Perhaps he’d gone to try to sort things out with her. Obi-Wan felt they’d both be well served by a buffer. Left to their own devices, they were too similar in temperament to go more than a few moments without arguing, especially when they were both upset. But the habits of a lifetime were hard to break. He tilted his chin down. “Of course.”

Mundi hummed and turned aside, leading Obi-Wan down a corridor while he pushed his impatience away, along with the urge to simply turn and sprint off. He wondered if Cody, the only trooper who had apparently decided to follow him around the Temple, would help with his escape. “What did you want to discuss?” he prompted, after a moment of silence, and Master Mundi raised a hand.

“We are almost to our destination,” Master Mundi said, and Obi-Wan gritted his teeth.

“Master Mundi, I have--”

“You have served as a Jedi for decades. A few more minutes will not be your undoing,” Mundi said, apparently unmoved by Obi-Wan’s impatience or Cody’s growing irritation. But his words were, if nothing else, a reminder that Obi-Wan’s obedience was no longer required.

He frowned, opened his mouth, and Mundi turned, leading him into the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Younglings tumbled over one another nearby, playing a before-dinner game of keep-away with their crèche master. Fountains burbled all around, bringing peace in the midst of the madness of the world. In the middle of Coruscant’s metal shell, the room was a brief spot of nature and wild growth.

For a moment Obi-Wan stared at it, just breathing.

“You used to enjoy coming here,” Mundi said, quietly, as the sun beamed down on them and Cody frowned around the room, defensive-minded, even in such a peaceful place. Other troopers were already in the room, keeping un-obstructive watch over the younglings. “I thought it a fitting place to speak.”

“It is very beautiful,” Obi-Wan said, aware of the steadily increasing determination he felt from Anakin, and disliking it immensely. “But--”

“I feel you should reconsider your present course,” Mundi said, quiet but firm. “You have been overwhelmed of late. We all have. But you are one of the strongest Jedi of our age, Obi-Wan. It would be madness to leave the Order.”

Obi-Wan sighed. The argument was not unexpected. “It does not feel like madness,” he said.

Mundi frowned. “The Order will have great need of Jedi like you, in the aftermath of the war. You would be a calming presence. A force for good.”

“I...” They were old chains, ones that had held him for so long. Responsibility. Duty. They stretched back as far as he could remember, well familiar with tightening around his throat. The pressure slid into place so easily.

“Do not throw your life away for a mistake, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan flinched, shaken from the cold feeling spreading through his chest by Anakin’s sudden flash of alarm. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“I am not,” he said, stepping back. “Now, if you'll excuse me.” He inclined his head and took a step back. It was past time he figured out what Anakin had gotten up to.

#

“Why did you come here, Anakin?” the Chancellor asked, all of the warmth gone from his voice, not just drained, but exorcised. Anakin swore that the room grew darker, though the sunset should have been pouring through the windows. He took a step back, unsure, suddenly, about what was going on. His senses screamed at him in warning, convinced absolutely that he was surrounded by threats.

He asked, doubting that admitting his purpose was the correct choice, “What do you mean?”

The Chancellor sighed and opened a drawer on his desk. “It is a simple question,” he said. “Why are you here? You do not _wish_ to be. I can sense it.”

“Sense…” Anakin pushed that aside. People used the word all the time, without meaning it in any useful way. “I wanted to talk to you, to apologize--”

Palpatine rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. He pulled something from the drawer and set it on his desk and for a moment the sheer unlikeliness of the object stole Anakin’s breath. A lightsaber. Why did the Chancellor have a kriffing lightsaber? “Don’t lie to me, my boy. You’ve never had any skill at it at all.” He sniffed, doing something to the communicator on his desk.

Anakin’s thoughts swam, full of disbelief, horror, disgust, none of it doing him any good. He shoved the emotions aside, drawing his lightsaber, lighting it. It was only then that he asked, “What are you doing with that?”

“Come now, Anakin,” the Chancellor said, sighing. “You are a fool, but not an idiot.”

“Step away from the desk,” Anakin ordered. Force, Force, was Windu hearing this? No. He wouldn’t be. Anakin had left his comm off, expecting the conversation to be personal in nature. He flicked it on, carefully, while reaching out to Mace through the Force.

Palpatine tsked. “And be taken in?” he asked, shaking his head. “No, dear boy. I have worked too hard for that.”

“It doesn’t matter how hard you worked,” Anakin snapped, his nerves singing in preparation for a battle. “It’s over now.” He felt Windu’s response. The man was nothing if not focused and dedicated. He would not hang back and make Anakin sweat. He was already swooping in, bringing back-up and support.

And Palpatine laughed. It was a terrible sound, nothing like the hearty chuckles Anakin had heard from him before. It was sickly and crackling. Terrible. It made Anakin feel dirty, just hearing it. He gritted his teeth and stood his ground, sparing a moment to be thankful that Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were safe. Something about Palpatine poured fear down his spine. He did not know what it was.

Palpatine snapped his mouth shut, suddenly, and smiled, warm and familiar and friendly. “Nothing is over for me,” he said. “For the Jedi, on the other hand… I will give you one chance to join me, Anakin. Together, we could rule the galaxy. We could end the war, we could--”

“The war is _over_ ,” Anakin snapped, and the Chancellor’s windows blew in, shattered by the troopers who leapt into the room. Master Windu landed in front of them, his cloak snapping around him in the wind, his saber in hand. The troopers took their aim, blasters steady on the Chancellor. “Step away from the desk.”

Palpatine sneered at them both. “So be it,” he said. “May this be on _your_ head.” And he reached, not for the lightsaber, but for the communicator, bringing up an image of a commander Anakin did not recognize and barking, “Execute out Order 66 throughout the army, now.”

Anakin scowled, tired of this game and more secure with back-up. He stepped forward, ready to end the terrible charade, and the troopers moved as well. For a second, he thought they were supporting him. Right up until they fired their blasters. Right before Master Windu stumbled a step, fell to a knee, and finally went over onto his face, riddled with more blaster bolts than Anakin could count.

Palpatine laughed.

And the troopers turned on Anakin.

#

Obi-Wan _saw_ a trooper move, as he stepped back. He _saw_ the man grab his blaster. It was one of the troopers who had been in the gardens when they arrived, part of a regiment he did not know. Shinies. It mattered little who he was. Obi-Wan reacted to him, following the trooper’s gaze, taught by years of experience on the battlefield to trust his men, to have faith in them. Obi-Wan coiled, prepared to offer the trooper aid.

And the blaster shot took Master Mundi directly in the center of his forehead.

For a moment the world froze.

And then Mundi’s life snuffed out, sudden and terrible, without even the time for fear. The younglings cried out--they must have felt the loss, they would not be used to death, not the way Obi-Wan was--the crèche master snapping her head towards the source of the threat. The troopers--not just the one with the blaster, _all_ of them, Force--turned towards the younglings. Obi-Wan was familiar with the way they moved. He’d seen it on the battlefield, too many times.

The fountains could not be allowed to become a battlefield. They could not. It would be a bloodbath. Force, he had to protect the children.

Obi-Wan moved without thought, saber in hand, calling Mundi’s weapon to his other hand and flipping, landing in front of the younglings and the crèche master as the first blaster shots rang out. “Go!” he ordered, providing a desperate defense. The troopers were everywhere--surrounding them. What had felt protective a moment before had turned into a trap. “Get them out of here!” To the troopers, he snapped, putting every bit of battlefield control he had ever mastered into his voice, “Stand down! That is an _order!_ ”

They did not. They did not even flinch.

Only Cody remained still in the entire mad world.

He stood where Obi-Wan had left him, blaster drawn and aimed at Obi-Wan’s head. Shaking. Unfired. As Obi-Wan watched, the white of his right eye blossomed with red. The realization stole Obi-Wan’s breath, but he did not have _time_ for the horror the image evoked. “Help me!” Obi-Wan pleaded with him, with what breath he had to spare. He got no response.

He reached out for Anakin, to let him know what had happened, and received horror back, mirroring his own. All around the Temple it rose up, thick and choking, threatening to strangle Obi-Wan as he dodged and spun and jumped, stealing the precious moments the crèche master needed, trying not to hear the sobbing of the younglings.

He thought, perhaps, he could hold his own, until another squad of troopers appeared in the doorway.

The crèche master fell, throwing her body in front of the younglings, before Obi-Wan could move.

#

One moment Master Windu stood strong and ready, the next he was on the ground, limp. The shock of it was dulled, somewhat, by the hammering blow of Obi-Wan’s horror, of _pain_ from Ahsoka.

It could not be happening. This was something out of a mad nightmare. What had Obi-Wan been wearing? Anakin scrambled to remember, but there was no time. No time at all. The troopers turned their fire on him, all while Palpatine laughed, looking so deliciously pleased, happier than Anakin had ever seen him.

“Stop!” Anakin ordered, putting the Force behind the word and pushing it into the troopers’ heads. They hesitated, for just a moment, long enough for Anakin to taste bile in his throat, and then they shook their heads and recovered. Anakin deflected bolts back at them, keeping an eye on Palpatine. He could not think. Not around the death in his head.

Jedi were dying, he realized.

The Temple--Force--the Temple was full of troopers.

And Anakin had left Obi-Wan there to be _safe_.

“Make them stop!” he yelled, pushing down the horror enough to function.

“I don’t think I will,” Palpatine said, shaking his head and taking a step away from his desk. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” he continued. “I wanted there to be a peaceful transition. Limited casualties. _You_ forced me to do this.” He tsked. “But I am sure the people will understand, tomorrow, when I tell them about how the Council rejected the idea of a peace and refused to give back the power they’d gained from the military. Such a shame. A once proud organization falling to such lows.”

Anakin screamed, wordless, too full of betrayal and anger to speak. Two of the troopers charged him and he shoved them, tossing them through the window by accident, the horror of the action only registering after he’d done it.

“Well, well,” Palpatine said, halting his stroll towards the door. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet. Your anger is…” And he made a shivery little sound of pleasure that turned Anakin’s stomach and jolted some degree of sense back into his thoughts.

Anakin took a panting breath, lifting the rest of the clones and throwing them against the wall, not hard enough to kill them--they could be fixed, surely they could be fixed, surely this could be undone. He pointed the blade of his lightsaber at Palpatine. He snarled. “I said, make them stop.”

Palpatine tilted his head to the side. “You’d be wise to let me go, my boy. I bet if you hurried, you’d be able to do something about your whore.” Anakin flinched, enough for Palpatine to notice. The man’s smile widened. “The troopers have _special_ orders for him. You won’t believe how much I wanted them to bring him to me alive, after everything he did. But it’s just not sensible. Sacrifices have to be made.” He sounded _disappointed_. He’d nearly reached the door.

Anakin reached out and grabbed the door, the walls, the ceiling, pulling, too raw to think about checking his strength. It all came down, burying the exit in rubble. “You’re not going anywhere,” Anakin panted. “Until you stop them.”

Palpatine stared at him, his expression twisting up with hatred, his eyes flashing yellow. When he spoke his voice was hissing and low. “You have ruined everything,” he said. “All of my plans. You and your whore. You have taken everything I worked for.” He tilted his chin up, and his smile was monstrous. “And now I will take everything from you. I will at least have that.”

Anakin’s ribs squeezed around his lungs. Obi-Wan was not thinking clearly, through the Force Anakin felt nothing from him but a swell of horror and battlefield adrenaline. Ahsoka _hurt;_ he could taste her fear. He inhaled death with each breath. And this man had caused it all. He could end it all.

Anakin pushed aside all the emotions that threatened to tear his mind to pieces. He turned his head to the side and spat to clear the taste of them from his mouth. And he resettled his grip on his lightsaber. He said. “Then I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

#

There was blood and death and noise. It made up the whole world. It was just like Ahsoka’s nightmares, the ones she did her best to release and, when that didn’t work, buried deep, deep down where they scratched and scratched at her thoughts and memories until they escaped. It was just like every battle she’d ever been part of, but uglier. Personal. Horrible.

She’d gone back to the barracks to change, she remembered. Her new clothes were by her feet, covered in blood.

Her blood, mostly, she thought. She was dizzy. It was hard to tell. Nothing made sense. Nothing made any sense. Nothing had, not since the troopers had all gone abruptly silent and she’d looked up, curious, in time to take a blaster bolt to the side of her throat. She would have been dead, if not for a last minute urge from the Force to jerk back.

As it was, she might be dead anyway. She’d thought she _was_ , when the second shot hit her in the hip, taking her leg out from under her. And she’d been so shocked, so shaken by the people on the other side of the blasters that she hadn’t even…

It had to be a dream. A terrible dream.

She’d had worse ones.

She blinked up, the Force screaming around her, tortured, and someone tackled her, shoving her bodily behind one of the bunks in the room and pushing her head down. Blaster shots lit up the wall behind where she’d been standing. A trooper. It was a trooper. The white armor was hard against her skin. Cold. She knew the blue markings too well. Rex.

He flipped the bunk and drew his blaster, and she thought--not him, please.

For a moment his hand shook. Something was wrong with him, a different kind of wrong than was affecting everyone else. He was mumbling something, words that made no sense. And something dark and wet dripped out of his ear, startlingly red when it smeared in his pale hair.

“Rex,” she panted, through the pain, the confusion. “What’s going on?”

And he steadied. At least a little. His mouth snapped shut. He twisted and fired over the bunk, at the troopers closing on them fast. There was a thump, meaty. A body hitting the floor. She cried out, horror cresting higher in her head, he was--no--this couldn’t be--

He shot another trooper, and Ahsoka reached out for Anakin, for Obi-Wan, projecting horror and confusion, calling for aid.

#

The younglings screamed at Obi-Wan’s back, their unchecked terror clawing at him, distracting him from the blasts that he had to deflect. The troopers moved forward in careful formation, and Obi-Wan could not--he could not bring himself to _kill_ them. He aimed to stop them, instead, but they just kept coming, even injured, like kriffing battle droids.

The only island of stillness in the room was Cody, still standing at the back of the group, his blaster pulled, pointed at Obi-Wan--or where Obi-Wan’s head had been, anyway. He had not moved in seconds, staring forward, his eyes wide. The blaster shook so badly that Obi-Wan did not understand how he kept a grip on it. A trail of blood snaked out of one nostril and one of his eyes clouded red, blood vessels bursting beneath the white.

“Help me!” Obi-Wan called again, pleading, deflecting a shot that would have caught a tiny Mon Calamari in the back. He felt like he was drowning. He could feel the panic rising from the rest of the Temple. Panic and blood and death. Jedi were dying all around him. And clones. “Commander! I need your help! Cody!”

And then he could not beg anymore. The shots came from everywhere. He could not block them all, not with his saber. Not even with the two he currently held. He caught one with his shoulder, the force of it spinning him, and he saw the tiny, upturned faces of the younglings, where they huddled together, weeping.

Force forgive him, but he if he did not kill the clones, they would murder the children.

He gritted his teeth, and ordered, “Close your eyes. Cover your ears. Do not look again. Not until I tell you.” He sliced a blaster in half, threw a clone into the wall with enough force to crack the duracrete, but there were more, so many more, swamping him. Dozens of blaster bolts seared through the air. He would fail, he realized. There were too many. He fell back a step, and another, until he stood over the nearest youngling and--

And a clone charging towards him dropped like a stone, his head jerking to the side with a snap. Another fell. And another. And he realized, then, that Cody had finally joined the fight, picking his targets with care, dropping one of his brothers after another, his expression horribly blank even as blood ran out of his nose.

Obi-Wan stared at him, horrified, bile in his throat, convinced for a moment that this had to be a nightmare. How could it be happening? But it was. He could still hear the younglings weeping. And he… he could not stand there and force Cody to murder his brothers. Not alone. No matter what it meant for him.

The clones fell to the blade of his saber easily enough, once he stopped trying not to hurt them. They cut down dozens, until no more blaster bolts shot across the room. There was no sound but the crying of children, the wheeze of Obi-Wan’s breath, and the faint click of Cody’s blaster when he jerked it sharply upward, towards the underside of his chin, his finger tightening on the trigger--

Obi-Wan yelled, wordless, and threw out a hand, knocking the blaster up. The shot grazed the side of Cody’s head on its way to the ceiling, and his finger squeezed _again_. Obi-Wan yanked the blaster from his hand, crumpling it with the Force and tossing it as far away as he could, even as he ran forward, over the bodies of the fallen.

Cody fell to his knees before Obi-Wan reached him, scrambling at his belt, pulling the blade he’d taken to carrying--“Blasters run out, sir,” he’d explained, when Obi-Wan asked him about it--and flipping it, aiming for the exposed skin of his throat and--

Obi-Wan dropped in front of him, tearing the blade away with the Force, grabbing his wrist, horror poisoning his mind and slowing his thoughts. “Stop!” he ordered, futile.

Cody did not reply, did not even seem to see him. His other hand came up to his head, scratching, digging his fingers into his skin as though he intended to tear himself to pieces. He was mumbling something, still, low and fevered. His face ran red. He was babbling, “--a good soldier--a good soldier--a good soldier--”

Obi-Wan could not think. Everything in the world had gone mad. Cody dragged his nails down the sides of his head, peeling off skin, and Obi-Wan covered the wounds with a cry, reaching out reflexively with the Force, just trying to make it _stop._

Cody’s emotions swallowed him. They were a maelstrom, so blurred that they made no sense. Fear and anger and duty and pain and a thousand more, swirling, swirling around thoughts that circled endlessly. _A good soldier obeys orders_. The words beat at Obi-Wan’s mind and he knew, for a second, that he needed to draw his lightsaber, thumb it on, and walk over to those sobbing children, quiet them permanently, follow his orders…

He gagged, tightening his grip on Cody. He _could_ order these thoughts, bring them to heel, smother them. He flowed along them, shoving them aside, tearing them out. They did not _feel_ like Cody. There was darkness to them, a vicious hatred. He sunk down, determined to find their source, to pull it out, to make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it, General, please, make it stop--

It felt like poison, like a well of poison, hidden in Cody’s thoughts. Somewhere distant, Obi-Wan was aware that it was some kind of mechanical thing, but he had sunk deep into the Force, into Cody’s thoughts. He saw it for what it was, truly, pain and death and rot.

He lanced it, unthinking, and it lashed back at him, hitting the core of him with agony, blinding pain, _hatred--_

“General! Force, Force, Obi-Wan!”

Cody was yelling. His voice faded in and out. Obi-Wan cracked his eyes open--it hurt--and gazed up into a face out of a nightmare. Blood covered Cody’s skin. One of his eyes was all red. Some of the scratches looked like they went to the bone. Obi-Wan shuddered, bile in his throat once more. “What…?”

“You collapsed,” Cody panted. They were both on the ground, Obi-Wan noted. Cody knelt over him, a hand fisted in the front of Obi-Wan’s robes, as though he did not dare let go. “After…. After. What-- I don’t -- What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan sat up--his head swam, but he managed to stand. The younglings were still huddled together, hands over their ears, their eyes squeezed shut as though that would keep death at bay. “But it’s still happening.” He crossed the courtyard, reaching out to the wall where he knew the soft spot to be, opening the hidden passage that waited beyond it. The crèche master had come so close to reaching it. “Children!”

The younglings jerked towards him as one, their faces streaked with tears. They clung to one another. Force, how had this happened? Obi-Wan walled off the horror in one corner of his mind, where it could not touch him. “You will travel this corridor. You _will_ be silent. You will enter the room at the bottom and institute emergency protocols. You will _not_ release the locks for anyone but myself or Master Skywalker.” He did not know who else to trust. “Do you understand me?”

They nodded, their expressions hollowed by terror. They stumbled and held one another up, filing into the corridor and disappearing down it. Obi-Wan waited a moment and then closed the soft spot, making sure it was appropriately hidden.

“You should--should go with them,” Cody panted. He remained on the ground, staring at his hands. Blood dripped off his chin. “To safety.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, the back of his throat burning. “I can’t,” he whispered, knowing that if Cody could feel the Force he would have never suggested such a thing. The world _screamed._ “The Temple is--people are dying. Everywhere. Ahsoka is hurt. Anakin is-- I have to help them.”

Cody nodded and spat. “Alright. I need a blaster.” He glanced to the side, his expression twisting into something so full of pain it hurt to look at, and stripped a weapon from the fingers of one of his dead brothers.

Obi-Wan laughed, weak and flat. “You--you’re hurt.” And surely Cody would be safe, if he stayed out of the fighting. The clones seemed focused on killing Jedi, after all. “You should stay here.” He squeezed Cody’s shoulder, moving to pass, and Cody grabbed his wrist.

He braced the barrel of the blaster against the ground and pushed up, panting a bit at the effort and swaying, momentarily. “You’re not going anywhere without me, sir,” he said.

And Obi-Wan did not have the time to argue. People died, more of them by the second. He would not cost more lives by standing here. He could not. How many had already been lost? And Anakin’s emotions tugged at him, desperate and angry, tinged with pain. He was needed. He had to go. He nodded, swallowing around the tightness of his throat.

“Which way?” Cody asked.

Obi-Wan stretched out his sense and shuddered. There was no direction that felt any worse than all the others. He had to find Ahsoka. He’d sensed a wave of her pain during the battle, but had not been able to do anything about it. He reached out for her, desperate, sure that he would find only the reflection of her death, but--but she lived. He swallowed a breath. “The trooper quarters. Quickly.”

Cody nodded an acknowledgment. Obi-Wan was not truly surprised when he insisted on taking point, and he did not argue. After all, Cody was far less likely to draw fire, in their current circumstances. Their success meant more than anything else. He’d take whatever advantages he could possibly get.

#

Palpatine sighed. He looked bored and he made to shrug off his heavy outer robe. Anakin did not give him time to finish the movement. He saw no reason to give _anything_. Enough had been lost already. He charged forward, lightsaber ignited, determined to stop this madness, one way or another. A blood red blade met him, Palpatine moving terribly quickly for an old man, more quickly had Anakin had ever seen him move before.

“You think you can face me?” Palpatine snarled, as they traded a storm of blows. “You? Who could not even best Dooku?” He laughed.

“I’m stronger now,” Anakin told him, though he did not know if that were true. He did not care. This needed done. He was the only one here to do it. Palpatine could _not_ be allowed to escape. They fought madly, recklessly, and Anakin had never fought anyone so strong in the Force. He had grown used to overwhelming others with his ability, even if they outmatched him with a saber. But Palpatine met him and tossed him back, his saber technique a thing to behold, even as he called lightning unpredictably.

The rest of the world faded, until nothing remained but the fight, the hiss of sabers connecting, the pain when Palpatine scored a blow, the surges of pleasure when Anakin managed to get below his guard. He thought the fight was changing, turning in his favor, and Palpatine hissed, unleashing lightning. Anakin managed to deflect _most_ of it. But he’d never seen so much. And some caught his arm, his flesh arm, and _burned._

The pain was exquisite and terrible. He smelled his skin cook, crack, split. His fingers opened convulsively, dropping his saber even as it sparked and fizzed out. And he roared, all anger and pain, twisting and spinning close, _into_ the lightning, using the opportunity to drive his elbow into Palpatine’s face.

Palpatine shoved him with the Force, trying to throw him from the open window, and Anakin twisted in the air, landing easily beside Master Windu. Palpatine looked down the line of his nose. “You have no idea what strength is,” he said, gloating. And then he said, “Now.”

And Master Windu’s drop-ship dipped into view.

And it opened fire.

Anakin was moving before the first shot fired, the Force buzzing in warning all around him. He dove to the side, and one of the bolts caught his leg, pain exploding up his thigh as flesh and muscle incinerated. He landed in a heap, biting back a scream that would have been covered by the whump-whump of shots, tearing a hole in the far side of the room as the shooter emptied his magazine.

Shrapnel rained down around Anakin, and he pushed at the ship with the Force, pain and determination blending into one ugly whole into his head. He _heard_ the engines whine. He felt the ship wobble. He pushed harder, and it disappeared, no longer _his_ problem, for the time being. He lay, panting, his leg a ruin of pain and heat.

“Impressive,” Palpatine said, sneering. “But ultimately futile.” And he turned, heading towards the hole the trooper had blown in the wall.

And he froze.

Anakin blinked, pushing the pain away enough to think, to notice that Master Windu had _moved_ , stretching one hand out, his fingers curled as he held Palpatine in place. It was the only part of his body moving. “Skywalker,” he said, a whisper, a gasp. “You _will_ finish this.”

Anakin nodded. He could not push the pain away. There was too much. So he accepted it and drew deeply on the Force. He stood, the leg protesting, promising terrible recompense for what he was doing. He reached out and called Master Windu’s saber to his hand. He took a step forward, and another, until he could grab Palpatine, curl the charred ruin of his hand around the man’s throat, and shove him against the wall. Anakin held the tip of Master Windu’s saber an inch away from Palpatine’s eye, and ordered, “Make them stop.”

#

Dead Jedi and dead troopers lined the halls. Most of the initial fighting had passed in a flurry of madness. The surviving Jedi had retreated to more defensible positions; the surviving troopers had gone to hunt them down. Obi-Wan could feel them all, their mind-states maddened and lost. He stepped over bodies of friends and comrades, holding himself distant from it all, the only way he could keep walking.

Later, he would have to deal with this, somehow. There was no time for it at that moment.

Cody walked beside him, grim and quiet as the grave, the scratches on his face still bleeding, too deep to stop. Ahsoka’s pain drew Obi-Wan like a beacon, past all the other horrors that tried to drive him mad.

They found Ahsoka in one of the bunk rooms, pushed into a corner, bleeding but alive. Rex stood in front of her, the blaster he held the only thing that looked steady about him. Blood ran from his nose. Obi-Wan caught Cody before he could step into the room, a chill running down the back of his throat. Cody cast him a questioning look, and Obi-Wan shook his head, edging forward a step even as Cody tried to grab him back.

Rex snarled at him, leveling the blaster on him before Ahsoka squeezed him from behind, panting, “No! No—don’t! It’s—it’s okay. They’re friends, Rex. They’re _our_ friends.”

He did not look like he believed her, necessarily, but he did not pull the trigger.

Everyone else in the room had not been so lucky. Dead troopers were arrayed in a horrific tableau around the pair, all of their blood out on the wrong side of their bodies. Not all the wounds were from a lightsaber.

Obi-Wan shuddered, recognizing men he’d fought beside, bled beside, slept beside. They were all corpses, now. Ahsoka wheezed, barely visible behind Rex’s shoulder, “Really glad to see you, Master Obi-Wan.”

“You as well,” Obi-Wan murmured, taking a careful step into the room. Rex’s finger tightened on the trigger. The capillaries had burst in one of his eyes, turning it red. Obi-Wan held out his hands, peaceful, nonthreatening, and said, “I can help, Rex. I helped Cody, see?”

Rex grunted. He was using a hand on the wall to stay upright. “Can’t trust,” he slurred and shook his head, hard. “Can’t trust Jedi. Traitors. Good soldiers. Got to….”

“You want to look after Ahsoka, don’t you?” Obi-Wan cajoled, creeping forward another step, trying to project calm and peace. Rex’s eyes flared wider and he pushed her further into the corner. “I can help you do that, Rex. Let me help you help her, alright?”

His knees sagged and he reached up for his head, grimacing. “Can’t trust the Jedi. Traitors. Traitors. Got to… follow orders, can’t—”

“Sh,” Ahsoka hummed, holding his weight when he started to collapse. “You can trust me, though, remember? And _I_ trust Obi-Wan. Let us help.”

In the end, Obi-Wan was not sure if they convinced Rex, or if the pressure in his head simply stole the fight from him. The blaster dropped, in any case, and Obi-Wan seized the opportunity, settling his palms on either side of Rex’s head, familiar now with what he was looking for and—Force. Rex’s thoughts were more disordered than Cody’s had been. He’d suffered longer. Obi-Wan could not find a way through them, and he shuddered, realizing he could _not_ fix it.

But Ahsoka had always learned so quickly. He felt one of her hands cover his and the quicksilver slide of her will along the path he’d started. Rex’s mind responded to her the way it had not reacted to Obi-Wan, thoughts curling around her and pulling in, showing her directly to the pain. Obi-Wan felt her horror when she sensed the well of disease, hidden and ruinous. He felt the surge of her emotion when she pulled the terrible device apart.

Rex collapsed, dragging Ahsoka with him. She cried out, both of them thrown from his thoughts, and Obi-Wan could finally see the injuries he’d sensed before. She’d been shot, at least twice. One of her arms hung limp and useless. A hurried pressure bandage had been applied to the side of her neck. She’d bled most of the way through it. She looked up at him with barely-focusing eyes, and asked, “Is he—is he alright, now?”

“He will be, I hope. Now, let me see to you.”

He helped her up, and she wobbled, leaning into him heavily as they stepped around the bodies. “They…” She swallowed hard. “They just—it was like they all went crazy—they just—they tried to kill me and there were—there were so many—and then _Rex_ —“

“Sh,” Obi-Wan murmured, curling his palm over her neck.

She looked up, her eyes huge, and said, “You don’t understand, he killed them all. They were his brothers and he--he killed them. I couldn’t--I couldn’t--He—”

“I know, Ahsoka.”

She looked over his shoulder, then, to where Cody was talking to Rex in a soft, even voice, leading him out of the room, away from the bodies. She shuddered again. For a moment, he thought she might be ill, but she swallowed it back.

“We have to go now,” he said, when she was at least patched up enough that she would not bleed out. She was safe, or as safe as she was likely to be, with whatever was going on. But Anakin _hurt_ still, fierce and terrible. He hurt and his horror blended with Obi-Wan’s, expanding even after Obi-Wan managed to shove his down, until it was small and tolerable.

Ahsoka looked up, dazed but present. “Anakin,” she said, sensing it too, a question and a statement all in one.

#

“Release me, and I will rescind the order.”

The words stayed Anakin’s hand, a millimeter from neatly perforating Palpatine’s head. Obi-Wan’s pain and horror beat at him--Ahsoka’s agony burned in his throat. He snarled, “Do it.”

“Not until you let me go,” Palpatine insisted, his smile cold for all that Anakin could smell the fear on him. “I have no reason to trust your word.”

Anakin’s thoughts buzzed, nowhere near coherent. There had been too much pain for that. For a moment, his grip around Palpatine’s throat relaxed, and only another surge of horror from Obi-Wan allowed him to notice the pressure of another’s influence on his will. He snarled, shaking off the stench of Palpatine’s will, and redoubled his hold. “Wrong answer,” he said, shifting his grip on the saber, and--

“Wait!” Palpatine quavered the word, his yellow eyes widening. “I will do as you wish! But you must promise to allow me to leave. I am no more threat to you!”

Anakin doubted that. Every instinct in his head screamed that it was an untruth. “Then _do it_ ,” he repeated, holding on desperately to the thread of Obi-Wan’s panic--Ahsoka’s pain. They kept him clear-headed. They ensured his thoughts remained his own. He kept the point of WIndu’s lightsaber right below Palpatine’s eye as the disgusting creature raised his communicator and called up an image of one of the troopers, presently firing at something unseen.

“Commander,” Palpatine said, his voice taking on a darker, familiar cadence. “I am ordering you to cease and desist Order 66, immediately. Pass the word.”

“Tell him to stand down,” Anakin growled. One of the Chancellor’s eyelashes brushed the lightsaber’s blade and curled up.

“This is a general stand down,” Palpatine ordered. “All of you will wait for orders from your Generals.”

The trooper did not reply, but he did drop his blaster, standing and turning to yell to his men before the image cut out. “There,” Palpatine said, “I have kept up my end of our little… bargain.” He dared a smile.

Anakin gritted his teeth. He could feel the Sith pushing against his mind. He could _feel_ Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, still desperate. “What are you doing?” Panic had crept into Palpatine’s voice.

Anakin’s thoughts buzzed. Images burned themselves on his eyelids. He saw an army all in perfect white, completely unadorned, not like the troopers, marching in lines down a broad road that ran with blood. He saw Palpatine’s form, stooped with age and disease, his face a cavern full of yellow eyes and yellow teeth. He saw Obi-Wan, strung up by the wrists, his stomach carved open, his face empty. He saw Ahsoka, empty-eyed, grown, crushed beneath stone in a dark place that stank of the dark side. He saw the Temple, burning. He saw a boy--a boy who looked terribly familiar, a boy with his eyes--screaming and holding the amputated end of his arm.

And he knew then, knew terribly and perfectly, that Palpatine was not beaten. He would merely crawl off, lick his wounds, find some other way to creep into power, to kill them--all of them--if he could. “Leave me go! Release me! I am unarmed!” Palpatine gasped. There was panic in his eyes.

Anakin swallowed bile. Letting Palpatine go would be the _Jedi_ thing to do. The Council would want a trial, likely as not.

But Anakin was no longer a Jedi.

And he saw the future, rolling out before him, before all of them, terrible and long and miserable. It waited for him, preparing to lunge, needing only for Palpatine to be given the necessary inch to regain all of his power.

He could stop it. He could stop all of it. Not for his own anger and pain and betrayal. But for all the people he loved, for the Jedi themselves, though they probably would not appreciate the effort. He could do it.

There was no one else around who could.

Palpatine’s expression contorted in a paroxysm of fury and horror. He gasped, “No!”

And Anakin pushed his wrist forward, driving the blade of the lightsaber through Palpatine’s eye, through the wall at his back, until Anakin’s fingers rested against the monster’s cheek. And then he flicked the saber off and stumbled back a step, his leg crumpling, dizzy, suddenly. Palpatine collapsed, a boneless mass, no longer living.

Anakin bumped into a piece of rubble and fell to one knee, pain beating at his senses, creeping in and trying to smother him. He braced himself up on his mechanical arm, panting for breath, pain squeezing his lungs. Ahsoka was hurt. And Obi-Wan--Force. He needed to find Obi-Wan.

He pulled himself up again, holding onto the wall, and managed a step before his leg went out once more.

He landed hard on his shoulder, choking on nothing, on pain, and rolled awkwardly to his stomach. Fine. He could not walk. He could not even feel his left leg any longer. He pulled up his good leg and stretched out his good arm, and he dragged himself forward.

#

Death waited on every corner, in every hall. The four of them moved through it, unwelcome ambassadors from the world of the living. They found the hangar half-empty. Other Jedi must have fled--or troopers had taken ships to go hunt more of them down. It was impossible to say. Obi-Wan pulled Ahsoka into a ship--she was dizzy with the loss of blood--and pushed her towards a seat before threading his way to the pilot’s seat.

Outside the Temple, the world was different.

Everyone was going about their business, unconcerned with the slaughter within the walls. No one had yet noticed. It had been only a few moments. Perhaps people were slightly more anxious, picking up on the reverberations of panic and death through the Force--even non-Force sensitives could notice death on such a scale, especially when Jedi were involved. But perhaps not.

It felt absurd, dream-like, to fly over the city, towards the Senate, with panic in his bones while everyone else went about their daily work, untroubled.

The feeling lasted only until the Senate.

The madness found them again, there. Smoke rose from the Chancellor’s floor, where the windows were broken out. A crashed trooper carrier stuck out of the building several floors below. Obi-Wan shoved down every response he had and aimed for the gaping hole in the building, ordering, “Stay here,” as he brought them in, too hurried to be careful.

No one listened to him, but he barely noticed. He was down the ramp in an instant, taking in the troopers--collapsed along one wall in a heap, still alive--and Master Windu--limp on the floor, barely breathing--and Palpatine--incredibly dead with a hole where one eye had once been. At Obi-Wan’s side, leaning heavily on Rex who was, in turn, leaning heavily on her, Ahsoka gasped, “Oh, Force.”

Obi-Wan ignored it. He could feel Anakin, hurt badly, close by. He stepped over rubble, his throat constricted too tightly to call out. A smear of blood marred the floor by Palpatine. Obi-Wan followed it, noting, distantly, the unfamiliar lightsaber lying by the Chancellor’s limp hand.

It appeared the Council had been right about the hidden Sith in the Senate, after all.

He found Anakin out in the hall, dragging a ruined leg, gouging holes into the floor with his mechanical fingers as he tried to pull himself along. He rolled as soon as Obi-Wan stepped into the hall, panting with the effort of it, lines graven into his face from pain. A sound punched out of Obi-Wan’s throat, hurt and horror, and then he was at Anakin’s side.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin groaned, reaching out desperately, finding Obi-Wan’s shoulder and twisting his fingers into the tunic. The wave of his relief broke over Obi-Wan’s head, nearly as dizzying as the pain and terror had been, Anakin repeated his name, bleary, dazed, and sat up, ignoring the injuries littered across his body, grappling Obi-Wan closer and clinging.

“Sh, sh,” Obi-Wan soothed, holding tighter than he should have, feeling injuries everywhere he touched. “Sh, it’s alright now.” He had to get Anakin out of here--find somewhere safe and treat his injuries. They were severe, even a cursory examination showed that. Obi-Wan was not sure that either the hand or the leg could be saved, even if he acted quickly. And he did not know where to _go_. The Temple promised no safe harbor, and the _Negotiator_ was sickeningly out of the question.

Anakin mashed his face against Obi-Wan’s throat. He made a sound that could have been a sob or a laugh. “I found the Sith Lord,” he said.

“You certainly did.”

“Master!” Ahsoka reached them, then, and threw herself down, her arms going around them both and squeezing, her emotions unchecked and beating at Obi-Wan’s thoughts. He could not blame her, not at that moment.

“Hey, Snips,” Anakin said. “You made it.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head up, then, the Force nudging at him through the haze of shock around his thoughts. He tried to stand, to prepare to defend the others, but Anakin clung to him like a vine and had locked his mechanical joints. Anywhere Obi-Wan went, he would be coming along. Cody and Rex picked up the signals of his body language, at least, and both of them drew their blasters, aiming down the hall, just as a group of well-dressed, familiar individuals rushed up.

Obi-Wan blinked at the group of Senators, armed with whatever it seemed they’d had on hand, and choked half a laugh. “Senator Organa,” he said, weary beyond the telling of it. “How good to see you. Do you think you could call a medical droid?”

#

Anakin’s mind slid and slipped as the world moved, time carrying him further and further away from the nightmare of Palpatine’s offices. They walked through the halls, one of his arms over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the other over Senator Organa’s. Eventually they stopped, and he sat, and a droid appeared to fuss over him.

The injuries hurt, but it was a distant kind of hurt, so deep that his mind had shunted it away to protect him. He could not feel his injured leg at all below mid-thigh. He knew well enough that was a bad sign, but could not bring himself to care very much.

He kept his fingers clenched in Obi-Wan’s tunic, just in case. “Treat him,” he kept saying, but no one seemed inclined to listen to him, though he could feel Obi-Wan’s hurts in a way he could not access his own.

Ahsoka sat on a medical bed opposite Anakin, occasionally answering questions as a droid treated the wound on her neck. Anakin nudged at her with the Force, again, just to make sure she was really there. He wished she’d come over close enough for him to touch her. She must have felt his attention, because she glanced over at him and smiled, a weak, thin thing.

Rex stood by her table, barking unhappy answers to the questions of another medical droid, and Anakin felt a distant surge of fear that he swallowed down. Obi-Wan had said it was alright, Rex’s presence, and Cody’s. Several times, actually, because Anakin was having a hard time remembering that he did not have to worry about _these_ troopers suddenly shooting him in the back.

Cody stood somewhere behind them, his pain one more thread of agony in Anakin’s world, as a droid cleaned the deep wounds across his face.

They’d taken Master Windu somewhere else, somewhere with facilities better equipped to deal with his injuries. Anakin wondered if he would survive. He wondered if the Master would remember what Anakin had done, at the end. He did not know for sure that Windu had still been conscious at that point.

Eventually, one of the droids said, “We have to put him under,” and the orders registered after a slow minute. Anakin was having such a hard time concentrating. The entire world felt far away, hard to access. He wondered if that was Obi-Wan’s doing, if he was shielding Anakin from the worst of the pain.

“No,” Anakin managed to say, remembering, after a moment, how his tongue worked.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin saw his smile, tired and crooked, smeared with blood and dirt. “I’ll stay with you.”

Anakin considered. Thoughts proved difficult. But Obi-Wan was there. He seemed to know what was going on. “Alright,” Anakin conceded, and the world went away for a while.

#

Anakin floated in a bacta tank for days, beside Master Windu. Obi-Wan watched them when he could, joined frequently by Ahsoka, who healed with only the remnant of a new scar over her neck. His own injuries--not even noticed until after everything had ended, until he had finally had a moment to breathe without worrying about the imminent possibility of death--had been tended and barely ached any longer.

He wished the same could be said about anything else.

The droids pulled Anakin from the tanks, eventually, into a world thrown topsy-turvy and inside out. Obi-Wan wiped bacta from his eyes and Anakin coughed, holding onto him while droids checked his vital signs and fussed. It only took Anakin a moment to notice the leg.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, familiar already with the abrupt end of the limb, just above Anakin’s knee, and the new mechanical appendage that completed it. “They couldn’t save it.” At least they had managed to heal the hand, despite the severity of the burns there. The flesh would carry a few scars, but, for the sheer amount of damage, that was impressive.

“It’s alright,” Anakin said, his fingers tracing the scarred edge of his flesh. He looked up, then, tired despite the long sleep in the bacta, and smiled crookedly. “It could have been worse. I saw it,” he added, after a moment, his eyes going distant. “During the fight. I saw…” He trailed off, shuddering.

Obi-Wan swallowed. “Let’s get you dressed.”

“Where are we?” Anakin asked, as he pulled on a tunic, only a little shaky and recovering quickly. His hair fell in wet curls around his face. He sounded clear and less confused with each word.

“The Temple.” Obi-Wan had already prepared to catch Anakin when he jerked. “It’s alright,” he said, squeezing Anakin’s arm, feeling the jump of his heartrate. “Things have… calmed. The troopers stopped. None of them seem to know what happened.”

Anakin looked up at him, determination clearing the last of the fog from his expression. “Tell me everything,” he said, so Obi-Wan did.

The troopers had stopped, almost immediately after he and Ahsoka left the Temple, as near as Obi-Wan had been able to figure. They had stopped and looked around, and seen what they’d done. It had… broken many of them.

Obi-Wan had returned to find so many dead Jedi and so many dead troopers. A tremendous amount of them had not been killed by lightsabers, but by blasters turned against their own temples and--

And Obi-Wan would carry the images forever, no matter how much he wished he did not.

Some had survived, and they’d ordered themselves together and waited and come before the remnants of the Jedi that survived, lost and heartsick. They’d asked for punishment. No one knew exactly what to do with them. Obi-Wan--who had somehow found everyone listening to him, the rest of the Council was either off-world or dead--had ordered them watched but left alone. It had not been their fault, and he’d spent as much time as he could searching their thoughts, looking for the poisonous well within them and eradicating it.

The process went faster once he taught the surviving Jedi how to accomplish it. More Jedi had lived than Obi-Wan had dared hope. Many had hidden--like the younglings who emerged, shell-shocked, from the bunker. Others were spared when troopers froze up, or turned on their own.

It was an occurrence that had happened across the galaxy. It seemed the troopers had gone mad everywhere, cutting down Generals in the field, or, as the case may have been, not. Many had been killed, a few were spared. They lost Masters Pelor and Fisto, but General Secura had survived and was making her way back to Coruscant with what remained of her men.

“It wasn’t their fault,” Anakin said, when Obi-Wan fell silent, out of words to explain the situation. “They--Palpatine gave them some kind of an order. I don’t think they could help it.”

“No, I agree,” Obi-Wan said, his thoughts thrown back to that terrible moment when the troopers first turned on them, to the shaking of Cody’s hand, and the blood running out of Rex’s nose. “We found a chip, hidden in their minds, afterwards. We’ve been disabling it.” He shrugged, tired. “But they’re not handling what happened well.”

“That’s understandable,” Anakin said, sighing, idling flexing his new foot back and forth. “And the Order? How are they handling it?”

Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “There’s not much of an Order left. Half the Council is dead. The Jedi are returning, but I’m not sure….”

“What?” Anakin prompted, after a moment.

“The war is over. Senator Amidala managed to complete the negotiations. The Senate has been in emergency meetings since Palpatine’s death. No one seems to know what to do.” He dragged a hand back through his hair, frustration nipping at his thoughts.

“Hey,” Anakin said, catching his wrist and tugging him closer, looking tired and concerned and _alive_ , despite everything. “I know what to do.” And he curled his hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and drew him in, the kiss soft and sweet and then, when Obi-Wan pushed closer, needing the connection in a way he had not realized, deeper.

“We’ll figure it out,” Anakin said, after a long moment, and Obi-Wan nodded.

They would have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I fixed everything I aimed to fix. Epilogue up in a minute.


	7. Epilogue

Anakin woke to an empty bed.

He blinked awake in darkness, the space beside him on the sheets still warm when he stretched out an arm. The sheets were plain linen, and the bed itself was firm. They’d tried soft, deep mattresses and silken sheets, but a lifetime of living in austerity had made adjusting near impossible, though they had taken to a bed actually large enough to hold them both, and fit Anakin’s legs comfortably. That concession had been easy to make.

Anakin rolled out the bed quietly, reaching out through the Force to all the sleepy minds around him, still prone to fits of worry that something, anything would go wrong at any moment. Things had. The last year and a half had not been without incident, but they had all been managed and survived.

Thousands of living minds slept around him, tucked into their beds and drifting through dreams, some pleasant, many terrible. Everyone had been through so much, in the war, and they were surrounded by soldiers. They had not intended so many to join them, not at first. But the 212th, mostly untouched by the execution of Order 66, safe on the _Negotiator_ , had followed them, with the remnants of the 501st--many of them had fallen in the Temple--and then more and more troopers had arrived.

And that was on top of the remnants of the Jedi.

They had intended to leave the Order, all those months ago, but, in the end, the Order had left with them, too broken to continue on as it had been, the surviving Jedi desperate for a way forward, for leadership, for a place to heal.

They’d found it on a moon orbiting a gas giant in the mid-Rim, full of the remains of a Temple from the Old Republic that, so far as they had discovered, held no pools that connected to the Force. There they had set up a new home and worked on developing a new way forward, a new guide to the Order, one that fit the demands of thousands of battle-scarred individuals.

It took time, and Anakin was not certain they did any of it well, but Master Yoda seemed to approve enough, especially of the jungles surrounding their new home, where he often disappeared for long periods of time, returning to murmur stories about things that had not happened, but could have.

Anakin padded across the cool stone floor, drawn to closer sparks in the Force, out of the bedchamber and into the main living area of their new quarters, where he found what he sought, spread out on a couch. Obi-Wan had fallen asleep there, his head tipped to the side and his longer hair falling over his face, one hand resting across their daughter’s back.

She slept, as well, but fretfully. She’d been teething, recently, and fussy, frustrated with the entire galaxy. Her head was tucked near his chin, her hair dark against his beard. Anakin looked at them for a long moment. She reminded him so much of his mother in her coloration, though her hair was far more auburn than Shmi’s had ever been. Obi-Wan had even suggested they share a name, but Anakin had refused. On Tatooine, you did not saddle the living with the names of the dead.

Anakin smiled at the pair, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over them, but not stirring them. If parenthood had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that you did not wake the babies once they were finally, blessedly asleep.

He continued on, into the room they had turned into a nursery, full of soft toys and two cribs. Their son slept, quiet and peaceful, as tended to be his way. While his sister seemed ready to rail against the world at any given moment, the boy was agreeable, happy to touch and explore and smile. Anakin smoothed back strawberry blond hair, impossibly soft, and, satisfied that all was well, stepped back out of the room.

The sun was only just beginning to rise outside their rooms, and Anakin toyed with the idea of going back to sleep. But his mind felt clear and no doubt the day would be busy. It always was. Besides, he could feel that Ahsoka had awoken and was preparing to go on a run, something that had become habitual for her, since they arrived.

No doubt she’d be joined by her usual gaggle--troopers and Jedi and the other lost souls who found their way out to the moon. He wondered if Barriss would accompany the group. She did, sometimes, and her anger always felt lessened on the days she did. Order 66 had left their scars on all of them, cut by loss and grief, but the Padawan’s experience had been somewhat different than most. She’d been looking in the Force Pool, as Anakin understood it. She’d _seen_ troopers cutting down Jedi across the galaxy. And so she had acted and killed the entire squad stationed on Circindia, before they could attack her Master.

The troopers out there had never gotten the order--communication was poor on the planet, still--but she had not known. It did little to allay the grief and anger that ate at her thoughts, though she had been forgiven by all but Luminara, who still had trouble looking directly at her.

Anakin felt Luminara’s guilt--thick and choking--and hoped the two would sort things out, but it had been a long time, now, and some wounds had to scar, some breaks couldn’t be set.

Ahsoka herself seemed well enough, most days, beyond the nightmares they all had. She’d taken on the duty of settling any new arrivals and carried it out admirably. She’d grown taller than Anakin, though not by much, and then stopped, though he’d heard Togrutas had another growth spurt, later in life. She would be knighted, soon, but Anakin was not sure that they were still _going_ to knight people. The structure of the Order was coming together, but slowly, with lots of arguing and input from many groups, which led to additional arguments about which groups should be allowed input, and…

Well.

There was no rush. They had time, finally.

Anakin checked on his family again and pulled back his hair. Later in the day, he was supposed to meet with Padme, arriving from Coruscant as part of an official delegation to… Anakin wasn’t sure. Officially, to check on the progress of the Order. Unofficially, Anakin supposed they were probably making sure no one was going mad or planning a coup.

The Senate had gone through a change nearly as dramatic as the Order. Finding out the Chancellor had been a Sith would have that effect. Multiple laws had to be gutted, provisions removed, statutes rewritten. He wasn’t sure how Padme had managed it all, especially with the birth of her own child--a boy with dark hair and pale eyes.

There had been _lots_ of births, after the war. Perhaps that was natural. It seemed to be, if the history books could be trusted. Even on their little moon, children below the age of one abounded. There was Secura’s girl--fathered by Bly who had, by all accounted, slaughtered his way across a battlefield to be at her side when Order 66 was executed--and the children of countless other troopers or Jedi, who were, it seemed, prone to forming attachments left and right when allowed.

The hallway outside their quarters smelled fresh and slightly humid, as it seemed always to be on their little moon. The old Temple was in surprisingly good repair, all things considered, and the stones hummed faintly with the Force, as though the entire place were alive and happy to have guests again, after so long spent abandoned. Anakin trailed his fingers along the wall as he walked, meeting up with Ahsoka’s group right before they set off. They exchanged nods, and Anakin bumped shoulders with Rex, who stood a little apart from the rest of the troopers joining them. Anakin had noticed that happened, with the troopers who had managed to resist and the ones who had not. There was a level of respect there, or maybe shame, or some mixture of both. They had, after all, killed their brothers to save the Jedi. There were bound to be complicated emotions left behind as a result.

He nodded at Cody, surprised to see him. He’d been spending a lot of his time with the Healer who had treated the wounds he’d scratched into the side of his head, lately, a slight man with pale hair who seemed unaware that he was being courted.

They set off through the Temple courtyard and then out into the surrounding jungle, through paths they had carved themselves into the thick, old growth, through trees that grew together overhead.

Wild creatures watched them, occasionally, grown used to their excursions and still fearless about their presence. No one had hunted them, so they had no reason _to_ fear.

By the time they returned to the Temple, Anakin felt awake and alive. True sunrise had broken across the sky, and Anakin could feel, even from his remove, the moment when his children woke. He grinned, snapped off a wave, and peeled away from the group, his feet carrying him through the halls, back to their quarters, in time to hear his daughter’s first babble of the day.

Obi-Wan was just sitting up on the couch, the blanket falling to pool around his hips as he murmured something. He looked up at Anakin and smiled, sleepy and warm, and Anakin crossed to him, bending over and kissing him, soft and easy. “Good morning,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin thought it just might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! You can find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glimmerglanger) if you wanna chat. I'm still not sure how this ended up being 100k long. Or happening at all. BUT. It did.

**Author's Note:**

> So I also set up a [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glimmerglanger) and there's nothing there! But, uh, you can find me there, if you desire to ask questions or whatever. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
